


Just take a room already

by MisakillDatMonkey



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Blaming the twitter part of the fandom for that, Chitose is the best worst friend ever, College!AU, EmbarrassingMisaki2k16, M/M, Masturbation, Munakata wears puzzle pieces pattern panties, Not a crack fic but definitely a light tone and no big angst at all, Private lapdances, Slow Build, Smut will happen later in the fic, Stripper!Saruhiko, StripperClub!AU, Student!Misaki, Student!Saruhiko, thigh high boots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-29 14:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6379663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisakillDatMonkey/pseuds/MisakillDatMonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The male strippers surrounding them weren’t dressed much, and Yata was sure he had spotted one totally naked at some point and it had been the moment he had consider spilling shots of tequila right into his eyes, with the right amount of salt and lemon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If life gives you lemons, salt and tequila mustn't be that far away

Yata had no idea why he had accepted to come here. And to be fair, he hadn’t. Not really. And here he was, trying to melt into the couch under him. The moment they had all dropped on it, he had tried to gather as many velvety cushions as possible to make a shield and had tugged his beanie down to cover his eyes the best he could. Too bad the attention was on him every second.

Because it was _his_ night. The big night, like Chitose repeated tirelessly while elbowing him in the ribcage roughly. “HOW ABOUT THAT ONE YATA!” he shouted over the loud music, swinging his shot of tequila in the air dangerously.

Yata didn’t see _that_ _one_ , even when he looked up because he was too busy trying to escape the droplets of alcohol. “I fucking wanna go home!” He answered miserably, not loud enough (a first for him) to cover the music of the club.

“TO YATA!” Chitose bawled, raising the shot above their heads, followed by the enthusiast Kamamoto and Dewa. “BOTTOMS UP!” And they did, they drank it and slammed the glasses on the small table between them. Misaki wanted to die so bad. Chitose forced another glass in his hand and they all surrounded him with so high expectations and pressuring him so much he had no other choice than to drink the burning and bitter liquid.

He did his best not to spit it back. God, it was awful. He had had beers before, and even some good whisky he had been unable to appreciate fully with Kusanagi. But tequila was a first, and shitty! And it made your head spin fast. Misaki couldn’t hold his liquor well and two shots of that evil drink was already enough.

He had swallowed them down without regretting it too much so far, though, because he needed to forget why he had been dragged here, and to gather some courage too. But “ENOUGH! I’M GOOD!” he said, gesturing to refuse a third one. He needed to see clear enough to run straight for the doors when the three others would be engrossed enough with the strippers surrounding them to forget about him.

Because, yes. It wasn’t _really_ a club.

It was in a sense. Because there was loud, techno music and people dancing and partying hard all around them. Most of them were dressed very lightly. And covered in sweat, spilled drinks and other body fluids Misaki didn’t want to think of at all. His innocent mind didn’t even begin to imagine what they could have been, actually. And it was ok. He totally intended to stay that innocent, and oblivious.

The fact they weren’t exactly in a club, but in a _stripper club_ wasn’t going to help, maybe. But he was determined!

Because fuck-his-life, yes, they weren’t only surrounded by dancers. Strippers surrounded them too. And they weren’t _lightly dressed_. They weren’t dressed at all for most of them! Some female strippers were barely wearing a thong and high-heels to cover themselves. And that. was. it. The male strippers weren’t dressed much more, and Yata was sure he had spotted one totally naked at some point and it had been the moment he had consider spilling shots of tequila right into his eyes, _with the right amount of salt and lemon_.

Maybe, if he was lucky enough, he would find those little umbrellas you were using for cocktails. They were pointed at the end. It would blind him just good.

Yata tried to focus back on the table and his friends (traitorous bastards) and saw Chitose passing some cash money to Dewa who winked at him and left. He said something too, with a smug smile, but Misaki couldn’t hear him and looked at his disappearing back, dreading for the worst. Chitose leant towards him and circled his shoulders with an arm the next moment. “READY FOR IT YATA?” he asked, while looking all around them with a pleased smile. "FUCK YOU!” Yata answered fiercely, trying to get away from his friend’s grip. “YOU’RE MISTAKING ABOUT WHO’S GETTING LAID TONIGHT!”

That was too much. Misaki pushed him harshly and snatched the first glass on the table he found, drinking it down fast. More tequila into his blood system. Wonderful! It wasn’t going to help him, but he was so nervous, and he didn’t know what to do. He had to escape that ambush as fast as he could and it wouldn’t be easy.

Misaki would turn twenty-one at midnight and Chitose, and basically all his group of so-called friends, found it properly scandalous that he was still a virgin. And a shy kind of one. A blushing mess even, when he started to talk with the opposite sex. And it wasn’t better with the males when they were flirting with him. Basically, if it involved the slightest flirt, his brain just wouldn’t work anymore. And _that_ was unacceptable for his little gang. They had pushed him years after years, being pains in the ass, and he had repeated over and over he wasn’t interested, he was perfectly fine that way. He didn’t need it, goddammit!

And of course, his hormones had woken up when he was a teen, but it didn’t mean Misaki needed to jump on someone either. And he never had. He hadn’t when he had first discovered some new body functions of his when he was entering adolescence, nor when he had discovered he was more into guys than girls.

Not a single time Misaki Yata had felt the urge to sleep with anyone. He couldn’t even think properly about kissing, so, of course, sexual intercourses scared the shit out of him and it was ok!

Dewa came back after some time and sank back into the other couch, next to Kamamoto. He had a triumphant smile playing on the lips and said something to the two others that made Misaki gulp down painfully. He was utterly fucked, he knew it.

And when a shadow appeared in his line of sight, it was confirmed. He looked up as Chitose jabbed him in the side and his hazel eyes met a hand held out. At this hand was attached a bare arm. And at the other end of this arm, he found a gloomy yet very attractive young man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. He swallowed again loudly and heard Chitose’s voice in his ear despite the loud music pounding “You want to save that for later, but good reflex for a virgin Yata!”

So, so fucked.

 

x.

 

Saruhiko sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose hard. It was a good thing he was wearing contact lenses when he worked at the club, because he could do that little gesture repeatedly to express his disdain fully. It wasn’t midnight yet, the club had only opened an hour ago, and he was already so fed up with the whole customer base. All of them. Every single one of them, with their grabby hands and lustful looks.

But a job was a job. He wasn’t going home because of some scum. He earned his living with that job, and it paid pretty well. Too well to quit.

Next to him in the dressing room, Andy Domyoji was brushing his ginger hair while laughing loudly with Akira Hidaka. Both of them were only wearing a pair of boxers and tiny tank tops barely covering their chest. Saruhiko clicked his tongue. He didn’t like to show too much at first. Munakata totally encouraged them to go with the less clothing they could to appeal the customers but it wasn’t like him at all.

Of course he stripped during the private shows… He was a fucking _stripper_! But he didn’t see the point in going around the club naked already! If you showed everything immediately, people didn’t pay to see more. It was basic logic. Yet, his co-workers seemed perfectly fine with dancing and roaming the club wearing the less article of clothing possible.

Himself was always wearing at least a pair of jet black booty shorts to match with his black skinny tank top. Sometimes he was wearing a pair of thigh high boots. It made his legs look endless. Other times, like tonight, he was just wearing lower leather boots. From time to time, he wore special outfits like the classic cop one, or the slutty Santa one. They had so many in the closets behind his back… But tonight wasn’t a special night. He would meet regular customers, give them more or less private dances and shows and encourage the weakest ones to alcohol consumption at the bar.

“Fushimi-kun! Table 8, you have a request!”

 _Why me_ , was the literal translation of the long suffering face he answered his boss with. Already, really? He spared a sideway glance toward Andy and Akira but they were still chatting while doing each other’s hair and it was disgusting enough so maybe it was better to get out of the room.

Munakata – proudly wearing only some panties with a strange pattern of puzzle pieces on it – gestured toward a young man who was waiting nearby. “That gentleman paid for a private show in the red room,” he explained.

Saruhiko resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He hated the red room. Its only quality was that it was pretty dark, but otherwise, it was only a round velvet couch with a pole in its center, circled by heavy curtains, and it was small and oppressing because there wasn’t much space to move. And, thus, clients who hadn’t necessarily paid to _touch_ had their hands accidentally slipping more than once nonetheless. Saruhiko always had one or two knives hidden in a boot or under a strap, but it’s not like he could jump on clients and cut them a new suit just because they were gross. He needed better excuses than that, and hopefully, he never had had to face a dangerous situation until now. Only annoying and disgusting pigs.

 _It pays the rent_ , he repeated himself once more, heading toward the young man with the cap. He didn’t smile to him. It was another of his characteristics. He was always gloomy, never smiled, and even glared daggers at the customers far too often. It didn’t make him less famous, though. Most of them found some appeal to that dark attitude. It was _mysterious_ , like Munakata praised him sometimes. Fuck that.

He held his hand out with a defiant glare but the other guy just shook his head, gesturing toward a table somewhere past the bar. “It’s not for me! It’s for my friend!”

“Whatever!” Saruhiko sighed with resignation, and followed him all the same.

 

x.

 

Misaki wanted to die. He had protested loudly, then choked on his own spit repeatedly, and protested some more, but Chitose had pushed him against that male stripper, arguing that it was their birthday gift, and that they had paid the price, and that he was being stupid because it was only a private dance and that guy was only a stripper, not a prostitute… He should just go with it and thank them. “Fuck you,” he spat at them instead.

And now, the stripper-not prostitute (but really, it was the same, for fuck sake, it wasn’t any less worse!) had brought him into that little round room all red and dark and small and he already felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore. But then the worse came and the gloomy stripper closed the curtains, muffling a bit the loud music of the club and Misaki tried his best not to look at the pair of round pale cheeks just before his face. Was it even a pair of shorts or was that boxers?

It was so fucking hot in there Misaki was ready to combust. And it would have been a fucking relief! At least, he wouldn’t have to meet the young man’s eyes when this one turned around and faced him, towering him dangerously. He was taller than Misaki, and the fact that he pushed him backward to make him sit down on the round couch-bed? (what was this thing he was sprawled on goddammit he was going to kill Chitose and the others for real) didn’t help to make him feel any less small. His heartbeat was way faster than the deep bass and drum pounding in his ears.

“I—I—“ Misaki started to stutter, strangled sounds escaping his mouth. He felt too hot, his face was burning, and his whole body was heating up even more as the stripper made him turn to face the pole in the center of the couch and stepped over it to reach that long, gliding silver bar.

“Youdon’tneedIwasleavinganywaybye!” Misaki eventually blurted out, hands gripping his beanie to cover his eyes again.

The fact that the stripper clicked his tongue loudly enough for Yata to hear it was a tour de force itself. Misaki looked up, his face twisted in fear and apprehension, and a very annoyed and disdainful look pierced him in return. “If you’re going to spend the whole show crying like a baby, just close your eyes. I don’t care, I already got the money,” he drawled in a total insufferable tone.

That was enough to make Misaki all worked up. He balled his hands into fists and tried to stand as still and proud as he could, jumping on his feet. “I’m not crying like a baby! I just didn’t ask for that! But I can handle it well!” In the process, he landed pretty close to the young and really attractive man and regretted it immediately. Fucking tequila. It was already hard to keep his emotions down and his loud mouth shut usually, but with alcohol clouding his brain…

“Whatever,” the stripper mumbled. “But it’s lap dance, so you want to sit down.”

“La—lap—lap—”

“Lap dance,” the stripper grinned wickedly and soughed in his ear, leaning to push him lightly in the chest.

Misaki’s legs turned into jelly instantly and he fell back, unable to protest. He felt all too weak, suddenly.

It wasn’t happening! Not to him! His face was burning again, and it was worse now the alcohol was kicking in. Because he couldn’t deny he found that guy stunning and the tequila had that pretty nasty habit of annihilating all survival instinct. His body would soon betray him (by more than just being all hot and sweaty and trembling and unable to form coherent words) and it would be the end of him.

“Your friends paid a lot of money. You’re allowed to touch too,” the stripper informed him sternly.

And like hell he was _touching_ the slightest millimeter of skin before him! It wasn’t going to happen! He couldn’t think straight when just _looking_ , there was no way he would _touch._ The simple thought made him feel even weaker. Misaki desperately needed some air.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too,” he heard the stripper mock him again but didn’t even try to fight back. He couldn’t have even if he wanted to.

And soon, the descent to hell began. The young man circled the poll once, slowly, a hand sliding alongside it, then he took a sharp turn and his _whole fucking body_ slid along the pole languidly, his back connecting with the metal. Misaki moaned low and desperately and covered his eyes.

It was a freaking nightmare.

 

x.

 

Saruhiko didn’t even put the littlest effort into it. The most little gesture was enough to elicit the most expressive reactions from that blushing virgin. When he dropped on the floor before him, legs wide open and crawled seductively toward him like a panther, the guy was almost done for.

The young stripper supported himself on the edge of the seat, forcing the prude victim to open his own legs if he wanted to avoid any contact, and he started to get up slowly and languidly, arching his back while doing so. Then his hands ran higher, along the thighs, then trembling flanks and he put them on the boy’s shoulders before turning around to repeat the gesture once more, slowly arching his back until he was bent enough to grip at the pole before him, offering the client a pretty nice view.

It was about time to give him the show he was paid for.

At this stage, usually, a pair of hands landed on his rear and groped the skin shamelessly. Not this time.

Saruhiko couldn’t hear any sound anymore and he thought the guy had eventually resigned himself. That’s why he continued to move slowly and more and more lewdly, agitating his pair of booty shorts under the nose of the other with a wicked grin on the lips.

He had no idea why that guy was here to begin with. He was kind of cute even if obviously being a gigantic idiot. But at least, Saruhiko could have some fun.

After one last alarmingly hot swing of the hips, he turned around the pole again to face the guy, sliding against it with the bar between his wide open legs this time, closing his eyes to make the show spicier. Then he moved towards the guy, ready to straddle him.

And he tried to but the moment he gripped his shoulders again to give himself some support to straddle the customer’s thighs, the guy fell backward and stayed still and flat on the couch.

Saruhiko froze and looked down, eyes widening almost comically. But he wasn’t dreaming. The cute little client had just fainted if he wasn’t mistaking.

He bent over the body (surgically this time), nonetheless, to make sure he was still breathing, and find a heartbeat… And the stripper was positive, the stupid boy was still alive. He had passed out, but he was alive. Unbelievable.

Saruhiko looked around him vainly and considered his options. Of course, calling security had to be one of them. But he could have a little fun before, right?

The wicked grin back on his lips, he crawled back on the couch, straddling the boy’s legs. Then he let his hands roam his trousers and dig in his pockets. Several seconds later, he had a brand new phone in hands and a stuffed wallet.

His smirk widened as he let the phone drop on the couch to open the wallet.

The smirk vanished as soon as he found out it was empty of any money. What kind of guy came into a stripper club without any cash? Seriously.

The unprepared kind of guy, visibly. The unprepared virgin cute kind.

Saruhiko fumbled with it some more and drew a card from it. His triumphant smirk returned slowly and he looked down at his motionless victim. “Well, well, Misaki! I’m sure you won’t mind me keeping this as a sweet memory of our encounter,” he said and put the library card in the back pocket of his shorts before returning the wallet as well as the phone. He may have been a thief but not an asshole. (Not too much at least.)

Next second, he was up and pushing a button on a console hidden behind one of the curtains. It was more than time to give the alert. _Too bad_ , he thought. Teasing that adorable midget a bit more would have entertained him more than the rest of the whole night…


	2. Library cards before V-cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After repeating his first year in college, Yata finally was allowed to pass into second year but… he had home works due for the beginning of the semester. Essays. On readings. Reading he hadn’t done during the whole summer and now, summer was ending and tonight, the library would close for two weeks – until the beginning of the year. If he couldn’t find the books before, he knew he might as well return to his first year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like it's going to be a real multi-chap fanfic, with a real plot and not just a couple of dirty ideas my mind came up with. I don't know, my hands slipped, there were so many headcanons and ideas (and I'll use a lot from adorable people who make that story so complete and lively) so, in the end, I won't have to tag it 'PORN WITHOUT PLOT' ;)
> 
> Also, xladysaya beta-ed this chapter like a queen. Thank you again <3

Yata was truly desperate. Kicking the asphalt ground like a mad man to gain more momentum, he was crossing the city on his skateboard at the speed of light. And yet, he was afraid it wouldn’t be enough. The library closed in half an hour and even if he was right and could reach the place in just another ten minutes, the place was gigantic. Six floors of bookshelves. And he had to find five different books.

It was his fault, he knew it, but it didn’t help to repeat it over and over. After repeating his first year in college, Yata finally was allowed to pass into second year but… he had home works due for the beginning of the semester. Essays. On readings. Reading he hadn’t done during the whole summer and now, summer was ending and tonight, the library would close for two weeks – until the beginning of the year. If he couldn’t find the books before, he knew he might as well return to his first year. That thought made him double his speed and, eight minutes later, Yata came to a halt in a wide sideslip just before the big double glassy door of the library.

Yata was sweating and his face was red with the effort. It hadn’t been the best idea to rush like that in the middle of the traffic with those high temperatures but he had had no choices. He swung his backpack on one shoulder and tuck his skateboard under an arm before pushing the door open. Twenty minutes left, something like that, and he had no idea where to start.

He didn’t even know how the books were organized. By authors, by title? By subject? By number of pages, maybe? Yata hoped it wasn’t something stupid like that or the color of the book cover because…

“You can’t use that skateboard here,” a stiff voice said in his back. Yata turned around, the skateboard still very unmoving against his side. He was used to that and wasn’t so surprised when he met the icy glare of an old woman wrapped in shawls. She was wearing old-fashioned glasses and was particularly ugly. Must have been the creepy librarian because no one would dare walk around dressed like the total creepy librarian cliché unless they really were one.

“I don’t use it, that’s why it’s under my arm, see?” Yata answered, rolling his eyes. He was sure she stank. She beckoned to him.

Not knowing what else to do, Yata strode toward her desk. After all, she was the mighty keeper of that place, maybe she could help and… Oh. Right, she stunk. “If you want to borrow any book, you will have to search for them in the library. To enter the library, you have to get rid of your evil device,” she hammered, her claw-like fingers gripping the counter to propel herself forward and look at the skateboard with a deadly glare.

Yata sighed in frustration but he was aware he had only so little time to waste so he dropped the board and pushed it behind the counter. “Fine.”

“Now tell me what books you are searching for, young man,” the librarian asked with a suspicious glance.

The skater instantly drew a sheet of paper out of his pocket with the five titles written on it. He had printed it before leaving Kamamoto’s apartment to rush here and congratulated himself internally. Unfortunately, she took an eternity to give the paper back, only scrutinizing it without a word. “So…?” Yata risked when she handed it back.

“Don’t _so_ me, young man! I really don’t appreciate those manners of yours!” The weird owl answered, sitting back in her chair. _Goddammit_ he had done nothing wrong! Did she do that on purpose? “I can’t find these books, I already turned my computer down because, you see, the library is about to close. But I don’t expect a rude person like you to consider this kind of things.” Yata did his best not to bark back anything even though the flow of insults and _rude_ words was burning the tip of his tongue. But he still didn’t have the books.

“If you hurry and go upstairs, you’ll find a computer on the second floor, with a search engine dedicated to the library. But you want to be very quick!” She warned him with a scowl and he didn’t wait any longer. Turning on his heels, he ran to the stairs on the left and, ignoring the harpy telling him not to run, he dashed to the second floor. She had made him lose so much time already!

Fortunately, the computer she had told him about was just there, before him, on a desk similar to the owl’s one. Someone was sitting behind it, typing fast on the keyboard, face hidden behind the monitor. He rushed there and almost collided with the desk from the previous run-up. “ _What_ on earth is wrong with you, moron?” a voice drawled from behind the monitor.

The person didn’t take the trouble to look up but it was too late anyway. Misaki was short, everyone teased him about his height. But he was tall enough to see past the monitor and the person sitting there. Now he had half a second to decide what to do, considering that person hadn’t look up. He could turn around and run the over way, out of the library, and maybe out the city. Or he could stay right there, paralyzed, and unable to form a coherent word, risking to catch the attention of that person.

Too bad, he was never very lucky and that person eventually looked up to make sure Yata hadn’t fainted. And god, how much the skater wished he had. After all, it would have spare him a lot of trouble and it would’ve only been the _second time_ …

 

x. 

 

Saruhiko hung up and sighed heavily. Tokue was the most unpleasant librarian in the history of unpleasant librarians. That old shrew took Fushimi’s services for granted and couldn’t even remember his name. So, today, she had called _Sachihiro_ Fushimi only an hour before his shift started at the club and he had had to listen to her complaints about “the computer program you installed last week” because it was suddenly not working and it had to be _his_ fault because she hadn’t touch anything.

The problem was that, as a student in computer engineering, he was employed by the library of the campus as a computer maintenance agent and, theoretically, he couldn’t refuse an assignment. It was totally stupid, considering the library was about to close for the rest of the summer break. But he couldn’t afford to lose this job.

The club was a good source of income but Saruhiko really lived comfortably only when the two part-time paychecks came in at the end of the month. Mostly because the rent for his flat was ridiculously high.

Already fed up – and the day was just beginning, or the night but it counted as a day since he just woke up and anyway -, he grabbed his gym bag, left the apartment and went to his car. His phone rang the moment Saruhiko started the engine. His other boss’ name blinked on the screen a couple of times before he picked it up. “Fushimi.”

“Fushimi-kun, I’m glad you…”

“I don’t have time, sir, what is it?” Fushimi cut Munakata off – of course it was him.

“Alright, of course, you’re a busy man, aren’t you Fu—“

“Sir!”

“Right. An old customer just called and made a very specific request for tonight. Thus, you might want to know it’d be unwise to show up without your nurse outfit.”

“My n—Sir, you promised I wouldn’t have…” Saruhiko was taken aback and couldn’t hide the distraught in his voice.

“Of course, Fushimi-kun,” Munakata agreed cheerfully. “But you have to agree scrubs have a potential to seduce that is quite inferior to a mini skirt and…”

“Enough! Enough, I’ll bring it,” Saruhiko cut off the conversation abruptly and hang up.

Then he turned the power off and hid his face in his hands, muffling a long suffering half sigh, half groan. Sometimes it was hard to internalize when your boss asked for you to give a private show to a creeper wearing a mini skirt and a long stethoscope. Sometimes he hated his job. Really. But private creepy show meant also one thing: a lot of money.

Turning back to the apartment, he went back to grab the awful outfit and a pair of stockings and returned to the car at the speed of light. The owlish lady would give him hell if he showed up too late and Saruhiko didn’t intend to spend too much time there.

He drove quite quickly to the campus and barely saluted her when he entered the library. Saruhiko was about 100% sure it was nothing, she had probably clicked somewhere she shouldn’t have and that was it… Maybe she had even forgot to turn the computer on, it wouldn’t have been the first time…

Seriously, if Tokue didn’t know by heart were absolutely each and every book was in this library, nobody would have wanted to keep her here.

That’s why he nodded grumpily, throwing his gym bag - full of questioning items related to his second job - over his shoulder and headed for the computer on the second floor, just like she had told him on the phone.

The library would close in about half an hour anyway. He sat behind the computer and started to click aimlessly to get out of the black screen saver. Nothing changed. “Oh Tokue, what have you done again,” Saruhiko groaned not so internally, clicking more insistently. Nothing happened. He checked the monitor button. It was on. “Really, now…”

What he had been thinking was only a lame joke but, no, when he bent under the desk and looked at the computer tower… “Off. It’s not the system that’s off, it’s the whole computer.”

With an nth heavy sigh, Saruhiko pushed the on/off button and sat back behind the desk to see the monitor welcoming him with the usual screen. That old shrew could go to hell. Really. But, since he was here and was too late to go back to his apartment anyway, Saruhiko decided he wouldn’t warn the lady she was too obtuse and decided to use the computer instead.

He was surfing on the internet and making some researches for a project, saving from time to time a few links in a draft on his mailbox, when a body collided with the desk. Saruhiko was too busy reading something important to look up but his practical mind could easily do two things at the same time: in this case, insulting someone while reading a masterclass level paragraph.

And he was right to call that person a moron, since they visibly had no brain cells to connect and come up with a proper answer. Naturally, Saruhiko looked up when he was done reading and… Oh. He wasn’t disappointed he had.

At the opposite side of the monitor, the young man found a red head, and red face too. Scarlet, crimson… No, there wasn’t a bright enough red to describe the face of that young man. And… Saruhiko knew that face. He grinned so wide, and so wickedly, he wasn’t surprised to see the guy gripping the desk to support himself. “Yeah… You better hold on to that. I wouldn’t want you to pass out on me again. Neeee, Misaki~?”

Then he managed to keep the manic cackling inside but… Oh boy, Saruhiko was going to have so much fun!

 

x.

 

There were so many things that were going wrong at the same time that Yata had no idea how to react. He, too, remembered vividly the young man who was facing himself despite having spent less that twenty minutes with him the last and unique time they had seen each other. But it was also probably the most embarrassing moment in his whole life, so, of course he would remember!

And of course he wouldn’t faint again! It was just his luck!

“What the fuck are you doing here!?” Yata blurted out, when he could speak again. Then he processed what he had just heard and… “How the fuck d’you know my name?!”

The jerk with the glasses – he didn’t wear them at the club, but it was a detail Misaki didn’t want to remember! – sat back comfortably in his chair, grinning.

“Who would have known? That such a delicate flower could swear that much, Misaki~! I mean, it’s you, right? Too sensitive, you passed out when I showed you a bit of skin…”

It was very fortunate that Yata’s board was under a desk, a floor lower, because, worked up and impulsive as he was, he would have literally thrown it at the other’s face. That guy didn’t even bother keeping his voice low! And they didn’t know each other! How did he dare speak to him like that!

As if he was sensing Yata’s urge to punch him in the throat, the jerk with glasses pushed lightly on the floor to make the chair roll away.

“SHUT UP!” he managed to yell furiously.

“As you wish,” the dark haired man replied and he turned back to the monitor, his smug smile still playing at the edge of his lips.

Misaki suddenly remembered them clearly, in the dark, with the same smile twisting them, as the guy mocked him. He wasn’t dress as much then. And he was a lot more hot and… “Oh my fucking god!” Misaki groaned, definitely _not_ good at internalizing any emotion. “I need that computer, just get the fuck out,” he pointed at the monitor angrily. Angry because of that guy’s behavior, and at himself for thinking about those kind of things in such situations.

It didn’t help at all that, during the whole previous month, and since their short encounter, flashes of that moment sometimes crossed his mind and played with his nerves and… pants. But _that_ was a problem between him, his morning woods, and his bedsheets. It had nothing to do with the essays due for the beginning of the year and this jerk that wouldn’t leave the place.

“I work here, midget. Surprise! And I’m definitely not _getting the fuck out_. So you either tell me what you need or turn away and find another library, Misaki,” the guy said and…

“SERIOUSLY how do you know my name!” Misaki yelled again, his face flushing anew.

“It’s written on your library card,” the guy shrugged. Was he even real?!

“I didn’t show you my library card!” the skater barked, desperately. “And I’m in a hurry so—“

“Of course you didn’t show me your library card. You’re supposed to do that when you borrow things. Though I wonder how you will do it without it,” the jerk went on.

And seriously, it was so fucking confusing. “Cut your crap! Just tell me how you know my name and let me borrow my goddamn books!” Yata’s patience was running low.

“I told you, I read it on your library card,” he said, still smirking like a bastard.

“I _didn’t_ show you the fucking card!” Misaki was still steaming, now with both anger and mild alarm.

“I know. _I_ took it when it accidently fell off your pocket that night,” the guy said, shrugging again.

And this time, he seemed like he was losing interest in the conversation and didn’t even bother to look away from his monitor anyway.

To be very honest, if there wasn’t only eleven minutes left before the closing time, Yata’d have jumped over the desk and strangle him or something like that. “You’re not for real!” he gasped, horrified and furious at the time.

“And you were less annoying when you were unconscious,” the guy said, just like Yata had thought.

He didn’t replied opting to go to his backpack, fumbling to retrieve his wallet instead. It took him another precious thirty seconds to empty it on the desk and… “FUCK YOU! Give me my card back!” This time, he was raging mad.

“How could I?” The guy said, looking up eventually with a thrown. “It’s not like I kept it in my pocket all the time and wherever I went like a lucky-charm, ok? What is wrong with you?”

“What is—what—ARE YOU SERIOUS?”

It was too much. “Yes, dead serious. And if you don’t cut it, the owl is going to come upstairs and throw you out of the place. Without your books. Which, by the way, you can’t borrow. It’s really not your day, is it?”

It was hard to say if that guy was having loads of fun in mocking him or if he was annoyed to the max and… It was definitely a strange mix. But Yata couldn’t care less. “I’m going to kill you,” he barked, slamming his hands on the desk.

“Good luck for finding the books without me.”

Less than nine minutes. Yata couldn’t believe he was desperate that much and at this guy’s mercy on top of that. It was insane and… “I’ll let you use my card,” the dark haired man deadpanned. “Only if Misaki has a stupid list of the books he needs and can find them in time,” he added with a devilish smirk.

At that, Misaki was sure of two things: one, he had no choice but to throw the list at the guy’s face and do as he said; and, second, once it would be over, he would have to avenge his honor.

“You’re going to pay,” Yata fulminated.

“I won’t have to. You’re not very clever. _Borrowing_ means it’s free.” And it was clear that jerk was making fun of him again.

“You know what I mean!” The skater barked again. But the printer had already vomited a sheet with the location of the various books and the jerk was handing it to him.

“I’m sure you will have plenty of time to explain when you retrieve the books,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Or not.”

Misaki had already turned away.


	3. Never trust the Sashimis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contrary to what he had suggested, Saruhiko didn’t stay put behind the monitor, and soon couldn’t resist accompanying Misaki along the endless shelves. It was way more fun. And what was even more so was chuckling when the redhead looked at a shelf with a puzzled look, having the book he was looking for right under his nose but still not being able to see it. Then he’d flash an angry look at Saruhiko who would pass by him, hands in his pockets with a slight smirk, before pointing at the book nonchalantly.

Contrary to what he had suggested, Saruhiko didn’t stay put behind the monitor, and soon couldn’t resist accompanying Misaki along the endless shelves. It was way more fun. And what was even more so was chuckling when the redhead looked at a shelf with a puzzled look, having the book he was looking for right under his nose but still not being able to see it. Then he’d flash an angry look at Saruhiko who would pass by him, hands in his pockets with a slight smirk, before pointing at the book nonchalantly.

“This ain’t funny, asshole!” Misaki barked for the third time.

They were searching for the last and fifth book. Or more like, Misaki was and Saruhiko watched with a mischievous sparkle in his blue eyes. They found the place a few minutes before Misaki ran of time; and this time he saw the book immediately.

He didn’t pick it up instantly though. Actually, he _couldn’t_. Saruhiko was leaning against the opposite shelves, arms crossed over his chest and waiting, when he realized what was happening. Misaki had his back turned to him and looked up. Up. At a place too high for him to reach. It was the last thing Saruhiko needed, and he couldn’t help the mocking laughter bubbling in his throat. The past fifteen minutes had been so much more entertaining than the whole previous week, it was just priceless; but _this_ was the topping on that funny cake.

Misaki wasn’t a real midget. But he really was short for a guy, and he _sure_ was a lot shorter than Saruhiko. He seemed to compensate it with a _huge_ propensity to loud-mouthing, though. The redhead proved him right the moment he turned toward Saruhiko, a fist hanging in the air (his other arm carrying the books and holding them to his chest) with a ferocious look on his face.

Saruhiko laughed a bit more, just to annoy Misaki on purpose and gain some time to look at that face. It was true that that guy was cute. He was loud though, and it was probably boring in the long term, but Saruhiko didn’t mind spending a little time with him. There was nothing wrong with being entertained, _and_ by a pretty face on top of it. Misaki’s amber eyes seemed to be constantly shining and sparkling, the proof of his liveliness; and his features were sharp without being bony. Saruhiko really liked what he saw, actually. Even if at that moment, Misaki wasn’t showing his most beautiful side and seemed more ready to turn into some kind of animal ready to jump at his throat. "What the hell are you laughing at!”

“I don’t know,” Saruhiko grinned wider. “It’s true I shouldn’t laugh at you since you have something like… two minutes to grab a book you can’t reach and run downstairs.”

“Once I’m done with this I’m taking you down. Outside, just the two of us. See if you’re still laughing when I take care of you,” Misaki hissed low a threat Saruhiko couldn’t take seriously.

Actually, the blue eyes sparkled even more brightly as he brushed past Misaki to grab the book. Then he leant over the shorter with a smirk he knew was as taunting as it was perverted. “Interesting choice of words, virgin. I can’t wait, so I’ll help you,” Saruhiko murmured while dropping the book on top of the pile already in the other boy’s arms.

It made Misaki gape, his mouth widening in a perfect ‘O’, as his face slowly took on a darker shade of red. It was priceless, Saruhiko couldn’t believe how fun this was.

Next thing he did was fish his own library card from a pocket of his trousers. Misaki’s brain seemed to be running on an error, and in the time it took the shorter one to reboot the system, Saruhiko brandished the card and held it over the shorter’s head. Now he was wearing a devilish grin once again and shook the card in the air.

He held it high, higher than his own head, and looked down at Misaki with a challenging look. “You still need the card, though, don’t you?” Saruhiko, still low and mockingly. “How about you beg for it?”

“Is your survival instinct that low?” Misaki blurted out in utter disbelief, sounding outraged as well as genuinely surprised.

At least he could talk again. It was a good thing, Saruhiko hadn’t broken him. “I think I’m doing fine so far,” he answered nonchalantly. “Come on, ask for—“

He hadn’t the chance to end his sentence though. Misaki stuck all the books under one arm, and actually punched him in the stomach. Or tried to, but the books made him lose his balance, and when he tried to really hit the taller one, he almost fell, barely brushing him. Saruhiko let go of the card in a blink and his arm went around the other, circling him to keep him on his feet. As a result, Misaki landed against his chest, both collided hard enough to be pushed against the bookshelves behind Saruhiko.

It knocked the air out of his lungs and his icy-blue eyes widened. It wasn’t like him to initiate contact nor save someone. Usually he’d have watched as the other person fell miserably on the floor. But now, that _other person_ was in the circle of his arms, the books being the only shield between them.

That caught him off guard enough for Misaki to take advantage of him. Or maybe the redhead was only running away, given his now crimson face. The facts remained that he shoved Saruhiko away.

Then the shorter one bent, retrieved the card on the floor and turned away, visibly willing himself to put as much distance as possible between the two of them. Saruhiko shook his head, a bit disappointed from his off-guard moment and quickly followed him, trailing after the redhead fast. “Neee~ Misaki! Don’t go running aimlessly around. You could get lost!” the dark haired man called after him, only stopping by the desk to retrieve his gym bag before following Misaki to the stairs leading to the owlish lady.

 

-x-

 

Yata couldn’t believe this guy, but he really didn’t have the time to think about it. He almost tripped on his own feet while running down the last part of the stairs and nearly jumped on the owl’s desk. She wouldn’t be pleased by that but he had no other choice. That jerk had made him waste too much time. And what a creep. And…not now, dammit! Yata needed to concentrate!

“I have them!” he yelled, slamming the books on the desk next to old lady’s monitor.

…

Never has he ever been so murderously glared at before in his life.

The shrew looked up at him and he could see and _feel_ the daggers pointing at him and piercing his skin and… “We’re closing,” she snapped.

“I know! I’m sorry! Please… I really need them!” Yata tried desperately.

His amber eyes shifted nervously to his watch. He still had one minute left. “I beg you. I need the books to study,” he said again. It seemed it wasn’t the best thing he could have said though. “You’re starting your homework this late in the summer? Uh! I guess I shouldn’t be surprised coming from someone like you!” she hissed, totally unfairly. She didn’t know him! But Yata couldn’t afford being outraged and barking back anything, or he understood she would never let him have the books.

“I know. Please let me try at least,” he forced the words out, clenching his fists in his pockets.

One of his hands brushed the bastard’s card and he drew it, pushing it on the desk toward the hideous owl.

She grabbed it, all claws out, and frowned at him. All he could do was to wait, now.

“That’s not your card.” The words were sharp and stung. And he knew he was fucked.

“I know pl—“

“It’s mine, Tokue.” A cold voice sounded behind Yata and he flinched. Fuck, no! Like the situation wasn’t already horrible enough. 

“Ah Sashimi,” she gritted the dark haired man with a snarl. “Are you done with the computer?”

Yata jerked his head at the speed of light toward the newcomer, now standing nonchalantly next to the skater. “Sashimi?” the redhead repeated, holding back a laugh that made his eyes prickle.

In response, the taller guy stepped on his foot and Yata jumped away yelling. Tokue, the library lady, flashed him another angry glare.

“It’s done. I made sure it wouldn’t happen again. In the meantime, I let Misaki here borrow my card for the books. He was so eager to come and see me he forgot his own,” he said, leaning over the counter slightly.

Tokue squinted then looked from one boy to the other. “You two know each other?”

“Of course we do. He asked me to go on a date with him,” Saruhiko drawled, as if he was utterly annoyed.

Misaki liquefied himself on the spot. _What the fuck even_ …

“Wh—“

The dark haired guy stepped on his foot again to make him shut up and the owlish lady gave them a suspicious look. “This is unexpected,” she only said, though, and passed the card over the scanner before scanning the books one by one, her piercing eyes gazing steadily at a blushing Yata.

The taller one shrugged, and when she handed the books back to the redhead, he threw them inside his back pack so fast he almost tore a page or two. But he didn’t care. He just wanted to grab his skateboard and bag, leave and never come back again.

That’s what he almost did. Except his plan failed the moment he stormed out of the library and dropped the board on the floor. “Oi, Misaki! Where do you think you’re going? We’re not finished!”

The redhead hadn’t hopped on his board yet, and turned back abruptly, fists clenched and jaw set. “Yes we are!”

“I thought it was going to be just the two of us, now?” the dark haired boy said with a smirk back on his stupid face.

“Never mind that, jerkface! I—I—what the fuck was that just now?! Like I would ask someone like _you_ to go on a d—date with me!”

The _you_ was meant to be an insult, clearly, but it wasn’t as effective as Yata would have liked it to be, flustered as he was. The stripper didn’t appear to be bothered by it. “Oh you wouldn’t? But then how are you going to repay me for the card?”

Yata was sure by now his face was the same color as his hair. “I don’t need to!” he barked furiously.

What he needed was to get out of there. He could always rush to HOMRA, even if he wasn’t on a shift at the bar that night, and maybe he could meet Kamamoto or another friend there and forget about all this. Yata fished his PDA and, glaring at the other one last time, turned away.

A pity that the jerk wasn’t done with him yet…

“Oh really? Because you need the card to give the books back. And then you’ll have to give the card back _to me_. No matter how you look at it, you’re going to have to pay me a visit, Misa—“

“DON’T CALL ME BY THAT NAME!” Yata had enough of it! That guy was trying to make him lose it and that wasn’t going to happen. “SASHIMI!”

He almost added a childish “ _ha! how is that_!” but bit his tongue instead and just looked at the other with a triumphant expression. The dark haired guy arched an eyebrow at him, unfazed.

“The name is _Fushimi_. It’s written on the card.” Then he closed the gap between them and abruptly leant over Yata again, invading his personal space without a regret.

Next thing he did was snatch the PDA in Misaki’s hand and step back. “Oi! WHAT THE FUCK!”

Yata tried to take it back, launching himself at the other, intending to wrestle for the PDA against the rude person but it was too late. _Fushimi_ seemed to be as good with a computer as he was with a PDA, and before Yata could really do anything, he handed him back the phone.

“There’s my number in it,” he said, pushing the redhead away. “If I don’t hear from you within the two next weeks, I’ll find you myself. And believe me, I have access to any information related to the students of this campus, Misaki.”

Then the dark haired _total absolute gigantic jerk_ turned away, waving a hand. There was a car parked near them, and Fushimi disappeared in it and drove away from this place without looking back.

The car was long gone when Yata started breathing again suddenly. But it didn’t make his knees any less weak. Only Tokue, closing the doors abruptly in his back made him snap out of his trance. And he was chased from the library’s entrance by her constant yelling.

 

-x-

 

Saruhiko was fixing his outfit in front of the mirror, glaring at his own reflection, when Munakata stepped into the changing room. “Aaaah Fushimi-kun! I’m glad you made it! We have a very special night, tonight, and I wouldn’t have trusted anyone else with this particular task,” he greeted him, immediately closing the space between them.

He too looked in the mirror as he stood next to Saruhiko, wearing some vertiginous high heels. Saruhiko was sitting, so the close proximity wasn’t welcome. This was because now his reflection didn’t only show him, but Munakata’s crotch as well, always draped in those glorious panties with a pattern of puzzle pieces. That man had no chill and Saruhiko didn’t even hope he’d give him more space. Things seemed more like they were going to have a discussion face to crotch. Just what he needed before that long night.

Sometimes, Munakata annoyed him so much he wished he had never met him. That never really lasted. It was true his work wasn’t the most pleasant one when he had to face weird requests from disgusting customers. But on the other hand, it was also a job Saruhiko didn’t mind doing, it was even fun or surprising at times. And Munakata had helped him big time. He trusted him on many things, and Saruhiko wasn’t always wiggling his ass around the club half naked. Sometimes, he actually worked in the office upstairs, and did some paperwork and computer stuff. His contract incidentally made him the webmaster of the club site.

He remembered the first time he had seen Munakata. That day, two years ago, Saruhiko had started college only recently, and he really had no idea what he’d do to pay his rent and buy the little food he needed to live on while studying at an expensive college. He’d ran on an empty stomach and drank so much coffee his eyes were blinking on their own accord. It wasn’t good. But maybe that explained why a man dressed in panties and stockings revealing way too much and wearing blue high heels suddenly appeared before him, _sparkling_. His sight was already fucked up and the coffee didn’t help and… Oh, god, no. That man had just bathed in glitter before going into the street.

How he hadn’t been arrested yet for indecent exposure was a mystery.

And, very soon (mostly because the man had blocked his path) Saruhiko had learnt Munakata – that was the guy’s name – was promoting the club around the street corner. A _strip_ club. Scepter 4 club. Because he was recruiting, and in desperate need for young and beautiful men, Saruhiko had caught his interest.

Of course, at first, he had tried to throw that weirdo away, because what the hell was he thinking. But Munakata had insisted… Actually, thinking of it now, Saruhiko was sure he could have sued him for harassment for how insistent he had been. He’d insisted so much that the broke student eventually paid more and more attention to what he was saying.

It was blur after that, but the fact that Saruhiko was now sitting on a chair dressed in a slutty nurse outfit, Munakata’s crotch in his face, reminded him he must have signed a piece of paper at some point. But the paycheck was good enough to get him to swallow the bitter pill.  

“You make a very appealing n—“

“Don’t.” Saruhiko cut him off before his boss had the chance to say anything more. Actually he didn’t want to have a conversation, even with Munakata’s _face_. His mind was elsewhere entirely, wandering miles away. He thought about Misaki. That moment at the library had been so entertaining. It had been so easy to get the redhead’s attention and had felt surprisingly good to keep it. For sure he was goddamn loud and had a short temper but it had been hilarious and Misaki was kind of cute. Not that Saruhiko could ever feel anything more about him, but it was always a nice bonus to keep your eyes on something as charming as a blushing maiden ready to beat you to a pulp. What was for sure was that he had caught Saruhiko’s interest, even if he couldn’t quite say why.

Unfortunately, it was about time to get out of the changing room and move to the golden room to give that private show. The regular costumer wasn’t particularly happy when they kept him waiting.

The dark haired boy pushed his chair back and got up, readjusting the stupid stethoscope around his neck. It hung low on his chest, covered with lace. He wore a mini, _mini_ dress made of white lace and red ribbons meant to be stripped during the show. Along with them came the red long gloves and the stockings. Of course he'd have to put on the high heels too and that stupid headdress with a red cross on it. “This is stupid.”

“This is Scepter 4’s magic, Fushimi-kun.”

A minute later, he tugged on the curtain and entered the gold room. His client was there already. That weirdo… Wearing a stupid headband with a pair of fluffy rabbit ears, Kokujōji Daikaku, one of the most important and influent people in Tokyo and maybe in Japan itself, was sitting on the couch opposite him with a very, very serious look on his face. Next to him, two guys wearing masks and traditional robes were waiting just far enough to signify they weren’t there for the show but to protect their boss…

Saruhiko suppressed a sigh and reached for the console on his right to put some music on, then strode toward the pole.

Kokujōji Daikaku always came in and out by a back door and never paid enough to be allowed to touch. Just enough to enjoy a two hour long show, and tonight, Saruhiko was going to be the most arousing nurse ever known to this man. Fuck his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, xladysaya for the corrections as always *_* <3
> 
> Also, if you want to see something priceless, here is [Saruhiko in nurse outfit](https://twitter.com/racheltriniity/status/725772584592248836), drawn by Rachelle <3
> 
> Sorry it took so long, next chapter will be here a lot sooner ;)  
> Oh and I'm not sorry for the cameo at the end :3


	4. Thirsty Thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two messages had popped up on Yata’s phone screen earlier in the day, and both had successfully ruined his mood. And also scared him a bit. What kind of creeper was that fucker? He thought Fushimi was kind of joking in a sick way when he’d said he’d find him if he didn’t hear from Yata within two weeks.

A yawn was barely tearing from Saruhiko’s mouth when Munakata stepped inside the room. He was wearing an awful outfit that was revealing way too much for the gloomy young man’s liking. It was new too, Saruhiko had never seen something like it, but it did look like an attempt to mimic firemen’s uniforms. Except it lacked 90% of the actual clothing. But that water hose strategically wrapped around one of his boss’ legs didn’t lie…

Fantastic way to begin the night. Saruhiko looked again at his phone screen. It didn’t blink. It hadn’t for the whole day or evening for that matter. Not that he expected it to, or wanted it to, or anything like that. Why would he, after all? He had sent two texts, nothing said he _had to_ receive an answer.

The young stripper knew he had the right number. He couldn’t have been wrong about that. He had access to the number of anyone attending his college, or anyone registered in the same library he worked for. So, yes, the number was the right one. The texts he had sent had been delivered too. The little notification was positive. Misaki had received his two messages.

**_Didn’t hear from you. Show up at the club with the card late tonight or I’ll show up at your place tomorrow._ **

The first message was simple enough. The second just made it more threatening. Saruhiko didn’t only have access to names or numbers. That’s why he pinned Misaki’s address to the second text he sent, to prove his point.

But it seems like Misaki wasn’t that scared, or didn’t care that Saruhiko knew where he lived. Or maybe he had lost his phone. Or didn’t care. Or whatever, Saruhiko needed to stop checking the device in his hands, after all, he couldn’t care less. He hadn’t seen the other boy in two weeks and three days. So what? Saruhiko could get a new card from the library whenever he wanted. Classes were starting anew the next Monday, it wasn’t a big deal. And he still had Misaki’s one in his possession. Really, it didn’t matter; he kept repeating that to himself over and over. He was actually pretty annoyed by the fact he hadn’t dropped the subject yet. As if it was important, to see that guy again. Saruhiko didn’t need him.

He put his PDA into his locker and turned back to see his reflection. Tonight was a Thursday night on any mundane calendar. But here, in Scepter 4’s club, it was more than that. Thursdays weren’t just the fourth day of the week. For Scepter 4, it was _Thirsty Thursday_. A night customers really enjoyed.

Every week, they voted for their favorite stripper. And every Thursday, the stripper that had been elected their favorite was to give a show. It started at 11PM and stopped at midnight, when Friday began. Thursday was also a night where the majority of the customers were students. Saruhiko didn’t like that much for many reasons.

First, he won the prize almost every week. It really was rare when he didn’t.

Second, he was also a student and he didn’t particularly appreciate when his fellows from college came to see the show. Perverts.

Third…the show happened on the main stage. In the middle of the club.

There was a catwalk running in the middle of the room, ending with a little stage on which was a silvery pole. It was directly under the spotlights and in the middle of everything and everyone, just high enough so even the people hiding in the most shadowy corners could see it, and Saruhiko was to dance on this for an hour.

He sighed heavily and headed toward the door of the changing room. At the same moment, Benzai and Akiyama both entered the room, almost naked and damp with sweat yet, totally unfazed. They usually teamed-up to give private shows on Thirsty Thursday. The customers could have them both for the same price. And it seemed like this time wasn’t an exception. They wore the same black boxers with the club logo on the rear and nothing else.

“Good luck,” Akiyama said, raising a thumb with a light smile.

“I don’t need it,” Saruhiko answered, readjusting his shorts. Like his short-sleeved shirt and fingerless gloves, they were midnight blue.

“Of course not.”

Saruhiko turned away and abandoned the two other strippers behind him. The club was already crowded despite the early hour. It was almost 11PM but here, that wasn’t a late hour.

Tonight, Saruhiko was dressed as a cop. Like a stripper cop…not a cop—anyway! Along with the previous articles of clothing, he wore a cap and black leather boots. Plus a pistol. It was a toy, and the little tank was filled with a liquid he was supposed to spill on one of the customers. It was a weird mix between water, vodka and silver glitter. It was _stupid_.

Saruhiko stopped by the catwalk, still unnoticed due to the darkness of the club and the wide crowd, and ah, there it was. The voice in the speakers announcing the beginning of the show rang out just as the lights turned off. Saruhiko focused on the loud techno music, and nothing else, while he climbed blindly on the catwalk. The place wasn’t resounding with the cries and the crowd’s noises yet but it was a matter of seconds. He found the pole easily, having done so many times before, and waited. “… and it seems you never get tired of him…please welcome your Thirsty Thursday host…” The voice was instantly drowned out in the cheers coming from the audience, and the spotlight floodlighted the stage where Saruhiko was standing.

He gripped the pole harder and bowed his head. At least he wasn’t uncomfortable with dancing, quite the contrary. Plus, if he didn’t focus too much on the gazes, it was almost pleasant. Almost.

Spinning around, he turned around the pole once, twice, and dropped on his knees, the cold pole fitting between his shoulder blades as if it were meant to be there. Saruhiko closed his eyes and started to climb back languidly on his feet, arching his back so only his ass could connect with the pole in the end. The closest people in the audience screamed and he turned away, hooking a leg around the long silvery item. A few spins later, he launched himself and opened his legs, turning maddeningly slow around the pole, only braced by both his hands. When he arched his back again, his cap fell off his head onto the floor and a few girls screamed again, trying to tear the thing apart as they fought for it. His dark hair fell on his face artfully too, and he re-opened his eyes.

He was just getting started…

 

x.

 

Yata looked down at his hand nervously one more time. It was pretty late for a Thursday night. Almost midnight. He didn’t go out a lot on week nights, not to have fun or hang out with friends, at least. He only did so when he had a late shift at the HOMRA bar where he worked as a part-time waiter for Kusanagi-san.

Tonight was a complete exception though, he wasn’t here to have fun or to work. He was standing awkwardly at the end of this street for another reason. He was queuing up to go inside a club he thought he’d never see again. But here he was nonetheless, glaring at his phone for the _nth_ time today.

Two messages had popped up on Yata’s phone screen earlier in the day, and both had successfully ruined his mood. And also scared him a bit. What kind of creeper was that fucker? He thought Fushimi was kind of joking in a sick way when he’d said he’d find him if he didn’t hear from Yata within two weeks. But now it appeared the guy was a total stalker. There was no way Yata was going to let him in if he showed up at his place the next day.

He’s actually thought a lot about Fushimi during those two weeks. Mostly when he was doing his homework. Which was really often… since he had to rush and work three times harder if he wanted to catch up on the things he’d neglected during his summer of not doing any college assignments. It was a disaster.

Half of the time it summoned pure anger lingering in the pit of his stomach for an hour at least. The other half, it made him blush absurdly. Most of the time, Yata ended up taking a cold shower to calm his nerves. This fucker was hot. He couldn’t deny that. His hormones couldn’t deny that. His boner every two mornings either…but he also was really, really annoying. It drove Yata crazy.

But thank the lord of the prude virgins, Yata could finally turn his back on this for good. He would gather his courage and go to the club and the descent to hell wasn’t going to be easy, but in the end, he’d get out of this stronger and free. No more hot, insufferable bastards to be seen. It was a motivation good enough to queue up in front of the club right then. It had nothing to do with whatever desire the redhead could’ve had to see the jerk again.

It was too embarrassing anyway. This wouldn’t last long. Yata would enter the club, make his way to Fushimi with his eyes closed the best he could, and once he’d found him, they’d exchange their library cards and he’d be out before he knew it. That was his plan. A flawless plan.

Unless it had flaws in it, as Yata soon found out, and the first was humiliating. The security guard asking for his ID before letting him in was more than vexing. He had celebrated his 21st birthday in that club, dammit! Thankfully, he was allowed to enter eventually, after a couple of girls giggled behind his back when he mumbled some rude words at the security guard.

_Come on, Yata, you can do that shit,_ he remembered, stepping in. The loud aggressive music instantly engulfed him as his gaze dropped on the stairs leading to hell. Or to the night club, depending on the perspective. He didn’t wait to start his descent, though, and braced himself and walked downstairs.

Halfway through, he met a couple making out sloppily while trying not to trip downstairs. Nice. Just his idea of a perfect night!

Fortunately, he found his way soon enough, and it was five to midnight when Yata made his way through a particularly suffocating crowd. Everyone was looking toward the same direction, dancing or shouting and raising their glasses; it was just his luck. He’d find the stripper more easily that way. He just had to look everywhere other than the place they all were directed at, and pray his target wasn’t giving someone else a private show.

For no reason, the thought made his cheeks burn disagreeably. Probably because it’d mean Yata would have to wait for him at the bar longer…

Heading towards a place less crowded, he just glanced at the stage for one second. After all, Yata was curious. Maybe too curious.

His throat drying on the spot and his jaw falling on the ground sure thought so, anyway. His eyes went wide, painfully wide as Yata stumbled backward, still looking at the stage.

On the catwalk, a familiar figure was moving languidly and slowly, waving in an indecent manner, and presenting his back to the redhead. Fushimi Saruhiko was _shaking_ his ass at his nose. He only wore a pair of jet black boxers that were way too tiny and tight, and black boots too, and there was a tie around his neck which was hanging on his gleaming torso. Yata found this out when Fushimi spun around, a hand covered in a fingerless glove gliding along his chest and toward his crotch and… “Fuck!” He choked on the word, half strangled by his own spit.

It wasn’t loud enough to cover the music or the others’ cries and whistles, but for a mysterious reason, the stripper’s gaze fell on him at that exact moment. Half-lidded, the piercing icy blue orbs seemed to sparkle when they caught sight of Yata. A second later, the stripper raised his hand, holding a pistol, and aimed at the redhead before he pulled the trigger for good.

Yata blinked rapidly, his brain sending alarm signals to his whole body too slowly for him to run away. Another second was enough for him to get sprayed by a glittery liquid, one strangely smelling like alcohol.

“Aaaaaand that makes you the lucky winner!” A loud voice echoed through the speaker as Yata, gaping and sputtering, looked at the stripper.

Fushimi was turning around the pole again, angling his head backward to spill the rest of the liquid down his own throat, half of the mixture running down his chin and chest. Then he spun again and stopped, legs wide open as he dropped on the floor before sliding off the stage.

As if he was dreaming (though if it had been a dream, Yata wouldn’t have been aware of his heart beating painfully in his throat and lower belly), the young man looked at Fushimi while the latter made his way through the crowd and toward him, eventually grabbing his hand and dragging him away from the crowd. He wasn’t sure, but those kind of dreams usually ended up with him awakening with the urge to get off for painful boner reasons and that couldn’t be happening here.

Yata didn’t know what he had won exactly, but this wasn’t what he had expected at all for sure.

 

x.

 

Saruhiko didn’t waste any time. As soon as he saw Misaki, he’d snapped out of the trance his little dance had put him in and targeted the redhead.

Usually, at the end of Thirsty Thursdays, he was supposed to pick a customer and give him a thirty minute long free private show, thanks to the pistol. This time, though, he wouldn’t have to bother with that. It had been instant. Like a reflex. The moment he saw Misaki, he was already aiming at him.

But instead of leading him towards one of the private rooms, he dragged Misaki toward some stairs hidden behind the bar and pulled him upstairs along with him. They walked for less than a minute and climbed up two floors before Saruhiko pushed a door open and yanked Misaki inside after him.

It was an office. One he knew very well. He was supposed to work here for the rest of the night after his show. And he had also planned to meet the other boy here. Not like… _that_.

“May I open a dictionary to explain to you the definition of _late_ , Misaki?” The stripper asked as he closed the door behind them. Saruhiko was slightly panting from the show and tried to hide it.

The redhead was unmoving; standing awkwardly there, just beside the door and a closet.

In the pretty little room sat a desk and a computer, and several closets and cabinets. In the opposite corner, though, was a recess that Saruhiko knew was hiding a tiled shower.

Slowly, Misaki seemed to get down from whatever fantasy he was having. Saruhiko clicked his tongue, annoyed by the lack of reaction. Misaki didn’t look at him directly and his face was flushed. And, finally…

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” The redhead barked, shaking his head and looking back at the closed door. “D’you think this is funny?!”

Saruhiko crossed his arms and leaned back against the desk, half sitting on its edge. “I wouldn’t say _funny_ ,” he admitted. “But it’s absolutely not my fault an idiot like you thinks midnight is _late_ for a club. I didn’t expect you before two or three in the morning.”

That answer seemed to anger Misaki even more. “Right! Because everyone is supposed to understand this! I’m not like the lot of you, ok? It’s a pretty late hour for a normal person and…”

“Said by who? Your mommy?” Saruhiko cut him off before Misaki had the chance to become really loud and annoying. “Anyway, you’re here now, and don’t worry, I won’t put you through another show! You can rest,” he cringed.

“I—I—seriously just… _tch_! I’m here for my card anyway! Give it back to me!” the redhead eventually spat back, clearly refraining from fighting Saruhiko further. “And can you fucking dress already?”

“Let me take a shower first.”

The stripper’s tone was final. Saruhiko felt gross. He was covered in sweat, alcohol, and barely wearing any clothes. And damn…he realized he’d never felt more exposed than he felt now that a blushing virgin was making his best effort to look anywhere else other than at Saruhiko. It was strange, and Saruhiko wasn’t ashamed of his body, but right now, it just felt really odd and he really didn’t enjoy the cool air gliding over his gleaming skin.

He didn’t wait for an answer, and turned toward one of the closets. This one didn’t contain any papers related to the club administration, it had spare clothes in it. Saruhiko grabbed some changing clothes and disappeared behind the tiled wall.

There, he got rid of the articles that stuck to his body, and turned the hot water on. It was a relief to feel it running over his strained, burning body. But it wasn’t as good as usual. He knew the hot-headed boy was there, very close, behind the wall, and it really made everything more awkward than he would have thought.

A part of himself had yet to realize he was actually glad Misaki had showed up, but the other part regretted that it had happened this way. He really didn’t expect to meet the other dressed in such a way, dancing like a whore on the main stage of the club. Saruhiko was usually shameless when it came to his job, but this was different. He couldn’t pinpoint what but he felt like the other boy’s presence made things different.

He shortened the usual long steamy shower to a quick practical one, and stepped out of it to put on some gray sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. It really wasn’t fancy at all but he felt better instantly. He totally was going commando too. After wearing the awfully tight boxers earlier, it was a total relief.

Saruhiko was still drying his hair with a spare towel when he stepped out of the recess. Misaki hopped off the desk he seemed to have sat on the whole time. His posture got all defensive on the spot, glaring at Saruhiko suspiciously.

Once his eyes scanned the stripper – and his new outfit – though, he seemed to relax even if just a bit.

“I’m not playing your little game anymore bastard! I waited enough,” Misaki uttered, drawing out a card from his own pocket. It sounded like he had prepared this line for a long time. Saruhiko couldn’t help but smirk mischievously. He didn’t feel too awkward anymore.

He strode toward the redhead and took the card in his hands. It was his. “I returned the books this morning. I owe you nothing anymore,” Misaki added, his breath short, but determined all the same.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Saruhiko answered in a sweet purr that was totally fake and destined to rile up the other boy.

“What d’you—“

“I don’t have your card.”

Again, he interrupted the other and leant towards him, invading Misaki’s personal space like Saruhiko would never allow anyone to do with his own. His gaze was intense and serious, contradicting with the slight smirk playing at the edge of his lips. He had made up his mind. This wasn’t farewell, Saruhiko refused it.

“I never said I’d give it back to you tonight. If you really want it, you’ll have to go on a proper date with me for real, Misaki.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back and I hope you won't be disappointed! I'm not very confident in this but I guess it can't be helped with being away for a moment; anyway! Sorry it took so long...  
> Thank you, xladysaya, for beta-reading this ♥


	5. Sentenced to date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m coming, jeez!” he sighed, exasperated, when the door was knocked on a second time.
> 
> He was totally fucked, and not even in the right way. That Saturday afternoon, which Yata had hoped he’d spend with his friends at the bar, was going to be dedicated to going on an… adventure with a total jerk, who was a stripper, and a hot one on top of that.
> 
> He reluctantly opened the door of his studio apartment, expecting the very worst and wasn’t disappointed.
> 
> “Hi Misaki~! I'm here to pick you up, seeing as how you were... sentenced to date.”

A _proper date_ with Fushimi Saruhiko. Why on earth had he said yes? Yata was panicking internally. And externally. His whole being was a giant panic attack. He was the epitome of panic. Panic was—

_Knock knock._

“Damn!” It wasn’t even the start of a bad joke. It was for _real_ , and Fushimi had just knocked at his goddamn door.

Yata didn’t know why he had accepted it. Had he even? Yeah, well…that jerk hadn’t forced the date on him. It was terrible actually. Fushimi had said the thing about going on a date to get the card back and…and Yata had just—agreed? Like…fuck this! He had been all flustered once again, and god he hated himself so much, but then he had accepted right away because he wanted this to be all over. It had nothing to do with the fact he was totally frustrated and woke up every two mornings with a tent in his pajamas bottom and…

“I’m coming, jeez!” he sighed, exasperated, when the door was knocked on a second time.

He was totally fucked, and not even in the right way. That Saturday afternoon, which Yata had hoped he’d spend with his friends at the bar, was going to be dedicated to going on an… adventure with a total jerk, who was a stripper, and a hot one on top of that.

He reluctantly opened the door of his studio apartment, expecting the very worst and wasn’t disappointed.

“Hi Misaki~! I'm here to pick you up, seeing as how you were... sentenced to date.”

Fushimi was leaning, his arm propped against the frame of the door, towering Yata easily, with a shit-eating smirk on his delicate mouth. He was stunning, and Yata caught his breath. In the hand hanging near Yata’s face jingled a bunch of keys, but the redhead didn’t pay any attention to it. He looked at the stripper, who actually wore casual clothes. Not that he expected him to be wearing booty shorts or something, god it would have been so embarrassing! No! He actually wore skinny jeans which were fitted nicely in black ankle boots, and a white t-shirt under a Harrington vest and…were those suspenders?

Yata gulped down too audibly, and Fushimi moved before the redhead could check to be sure, lowering his arms, his vest hiding the possible suspenders he might have been wearing. “You’re staring already? This is promising!”

“Shut up!” the redhead barked back instantly, his face burning vividly. He averted his gaze and turned away to retrieve his backpack.

“I suppose I’m not invited to come in this time? I’ll look forward to it the next…” Fushimi said, stepping out of the way to let Yata get out of his flat. He was still grinning.

“This is a one-time thing, asshole! Don’t assume things,” the shorter one mumbled, turning his back to him to lock the door.

Seriously. He knew that jerk was toying with him, it was obvious, and it was hard not to let Fushimi get to him too bad…

“Yeah, right. We’ll both be tired soon anyway,” the taller young man chanted, walking along the balcony towards the stairs.

_I’m tired of your shit already_ , Yata thought impatiently. Though he resigned himself and followed the mischievous stripper. They didn’t talk until they reached Fushimi's car, parked a block away. Fushimi walked with his hands tucked in the pockets of his vest, and Yata gripped the strap of his backpack viciously. Fushimi had seemed surprised when he had accepted the date. Caught off guard. Then he had – for once – not looked like he was joking, and had mumbled something about going to the movie theater. Now, unfortunately, the smirks and the confidence were back and the teasing and… well his whole person was dressed so nicely. _What the fuck, stop thinking these things_!

Then the car was there. It was simple, not too fancy, nor too old, just a black car parked there in front of him. It could also be described as Yata’s carriage to hell. He tried not to sigh, and circled the car to get in. He could feel the other’s gaze on him the entire time, and it was unnerving. What was even more unnerving was to know that if he gazed back, he’d feel ridiculous. Fushimi was unfairly attractive, even dressed casually like that, and it didn’t help that Yata also knew how attractive he was when he wore nothing but tight boxers. “Get your mind out of the gutter,” Fushimi teased as he opened his door.

_Fuck this guy_. Yata joined him, sitting on the passenger seat in the same fashion he would have had if he’d been asked to sit on a very dangerous bomb. Then Fushimi's very serious voice rang again: “No smoking in the car.”

The redhead arched an eyebrow and jerked his head to look at him. The dark-haired man wasn’t joking or teasing, he was dead serious actually as he started the engine.

“I don’t smoke,” Yata replied, a bit puzzled.

“Good,” the stripper said, almost for himself.

Yata gave him a funny look. It was like his whole attitude changed the moment they entered the car. Fushimi didn’t even look at Yata anymore. It was very new and perplexing, considering all the attention Yata had gotten previously.

“So, we’re going to the theater?” he asked tentatively, tugging his backpack in his lap and crushing the handle in his hands.

“You’ve got a better idea?” Saruhiko asked, still not looking at him.

“No—no I…a movie is fine I guess.”

“Good.” This one sounded final, and the dark-haired man drove them down the street.

 

x.

 

This wasn’t as easy as it seemed Saruhiko had already spent all his confidence, and it had lasted only 5 minutes max. It was completely stupid though, it wasn’t like this was a serious thing, right? And yet, as the minutes had passed, he had felt more and more nervous.

When he had brought the date thing up two days ago, he wanted to play. It was fun. He’s been so bored lately. A boring summer, a boring life, a boring job with boring clients, and then Misaki had shown up and he was _fun_. He gave Saruhiko attention. Saruhiko had some material to play a bit, and it had felt pleasant to participate in the game. So, asking a blushing virgin to go on a date with him was only the ultimate step to make the joke complete. Except now he felt like he was caught at his own game.

And it was not okay. Actually, it was stressful as hell.

First he had teased Misaki, because that was easy, and then he had seriously looked at Misaki and really, that fucker had dressed for their date?

Okay, maybe Saruhiko had put some effort into his own outfit, just a bit, because it was part of the game. But Misaki wasn’t supposed to wear his cargo grey shorts and black and red t-shirt look so well. Plus that stupid black baseball cap, it suited him and—

_Come on, do you even hear yourself thinking?_   Saruhiko felt stupid. Misaki wore summer clothes, that was all. Trainers weren’t sexy, stupid large clothes weren’t either and… _Stop!_

He might have driven a bit faster than the speed limits allowed him to get to the theater, but his mind was clearly a mess. It wasn’t a real date. As in… this wasn’t supposed to end up with him seducing and dating further this guy. It was just them messing around and spending the time together before college started again on Monday. Nothing more.

Anyways, once they were out of the stupid car and the little space it provided, it would be easier. It was actually unbelievable that he, Fushimi Saruhiko, a stripper who gave private shows in tiny suffocating rooms to touchy pigs, felt uncomfortable in an average car with his passenger glued to the opposite door and trying to put as much space between them as possible. Yet he felt _fucking nervous_. Priceless.

Fortunately, the ride was only ten minutes long, with Misaki living close to the area where the entertainment center was. Saruhiko parked the vehicle towards the nearest entrance, parking as closely as possible so he could get out of there at the speed of light when everything was over. The hot thick air of August was harder to breath than the light air-conditioned one, but it was still better.

When Saruhiko was sure his mind was clear once again, he turned just in time to see Misaki get out of the car himself and slam the door shut. They looked at each other steadily above the vehicle. It felt awkward. Still, Saruhiko managed a small smirk. He could pull this shit off. After all, they were here because he wanted it. He had made this happen, and he was smart enough to drive himself through all of this like a pro.

Though he wasn’t a pro, and had never been on a real date either, a thing he’d never tell Misaki.

“Quit staring yourself, creep!” the redhead suddenly blurted out, then spun around and started walking toward the movie theater.

Saruhiko’s jaw was set when he followed, there was no way he was losing the upper hand in this. Misaki was at his mercy, not the over way around. After all, he had calculated things before coming to pick the boy up.

When he had checked on the internet site, he’d seen than there were three movies currently showing on screen. There was an action/comedy one. The kind of lame and full testosterone scenario guys wanted to see in general, and Saruhiko was sure of it. All the tickets for this one were sold-out already.

Then there remained only a cheesy romantic story and a horror movie, which was probably so cheap the blood looked like tomato sauce. Saruhiko seriously started to question his choice while walking to the entrance.

The only way for him to have fun would have been to drag Misaki to watch the romantic movie, but there was no way Misaki was going for that. Thus Saruhiko would have to spend two hours watching cheap ketchup flying around while a dumb blond hysterical girl screamed like the running-cliché she was, except he would be sitting next to a handsome idiot all along, stuffing popcorn in his mouth and doing nothing and it was awkward and stupid, and scary and…well, he had doomed himself with this.

“Fuck, this one has been sold-out,” Misaki’s voice made him snap out of his trance. “Maybe—oh seriously that sucks. Err…”

Saruhiko looked at the redhead with a bored expression, which was the closest thing he could manage so as not to look as if he was regretting this. He still needed to look cool. Tempered. Above this.

“Ah,” Misaki let out an unsatisfied groan and pointed at a poster. “I guess we can go to this one…”

Saruhiko blinked a couple of times, resisting the urge to take off his glasses and clean them. The redhead was pointing at the romantic movie poster. The grin that spread on Saruhiko’s face was totally unconscious.

“What? What’s so funny?” Misaki asked all defensive. “I already saw this—this one! It was fucking lame,” he argued fiercely, pointing at the horror movie, adorning an adorable flush.

“Oh I see,” Saruhiko said, feeling his luck coming back already. “Then shall I pay for the tickets?”

With that, he abandoned the shorter one there and went to the ticket booth, asking for two before Misaki could run there and protest or anything, which the redhead legit tried to do when the cashier gave him the lovey-dovey eyes and Saruhiko smirked like a total creep.

“Enjoy your movie,” she said all dreamily.

“We sure will,” Saruhiko answered, pushing the rough joke far enough as to slide an arm around Misaki’s shoulder.

The redhead stiffened in his arms and seemed to recover too late. Saruhiko had moved them inside already and actually let Misaki go faster than the hot-tempered idiot could shove him away. It wasn’t reasonable after all. It wasn’t like he’d felt a thing when he had draped his arm around Misaki, no. But…anyway, it was stupid. They weren’t actors, and they weren’t playing a sick comedy for horny teenagers, they just happened to be on their way to watch one.

 

x.

 

Yata wanted to punch Fushimi in the guts so badly. The guy gave him that feeling all the time. Fushimi slid an arm around his shoulders? Yata wanted to punch him. Fushimi breathed? Yata wanted to punch him. It was tiresome and played with his nerves, and it was hardest to not be an impulsive idiot.

The redhead knew he had that nasty habit of reacting too fast and too vividly when he got emotional, but it would’ve been a terrible idea now. It was almost always a terrible idea, but something told him that if he started doing so with Fushimi, he would just play the game that jerk wanted him to play and it wasn’t happening, no way in hell.

Now they actually were in the theater, and no wonder the action movie had been sold-out. It seemed like every one had gone to watch it to make sure Yata and Fushimi were all alone here in the dark to witness some romantic shit story.

Although Yata was exaggerating, they weren’t exactly alone. He had actually spotted three other couples. No! Three couples, period! He and Fushimi weren’t one!

Each couple was made up of a girl and a boy, because it seemed like even gay guys didn’t watch stupid romance films…or something? Yata didn’t want to know, he just regretted having to place his sorry ass on the theater seat.

The film was about to begin and there was nothing he could do to get away. So, once more, he tried to remind himself it had been the right thing to do. Yata remembered too clearly the details of the horror movie poster and the ideas that had crossed his mind at this moment.

If they had been at _that_ movie, it would have been the most humiliating thing ever. He was scared shitless by ghosts. It was an irrational fear, he couldn’t get rid of it, not since he’d first adopted it as a toddler. So going to see a horror movie with a guy whose purpose in life was to make him miserable was at the bottom of his list of things to do to look like a badass. After all, looking like a badass was a very important thing. Looking lame and being teased until the end of his life was way less cool. He didn’t want that. That wasn’t even calculating the risk of actually _jumping_ on Fushimi by reflex if he was too scared.

Yeah, no, the romantic shit was good shit. It was going to be annoying, and lame, and whatever, but he had some popcorn and a bottle of coke and this was very cool.

Next to him, Fushimi waited, his cheek propped on his fist, with a bored-to-death expression painted all over his beautiful and sharp face. That guy was absolutely insufferable. Yata couldn’t believe this was an actual date. Why had this fucker bothered if he was going to act like a jerk…oh right! Because he was one, and this was no date. Yata felt dumb when he realized he actually had to remind himself that.

Another couple joined the eight persons in the room, and the film started right away. Yata stiffened into his seat. _Act cool_. This was going to be easy…

 

For the first ten minutes? But no, the rest was not easy. Protagonist A, who happened to be a male _and_ a cliché, had to be your regular fuckboy and here he was at a party, seducing easily a gorgeous and busty lady to put her into his bed. “God fucking dammit,” Yata cringed indistinctly, bringing the handful of popcorn he held to his eyes and not to his mouth to actually shield his gaze.

“What are you doing weirdo?” Fushimi whispered next to him, looking at him and not the screen.

But Yata still saw, because popcorn wasn’t as thick as a brick wall and dammit! The girl was squealing and giggling and _oh no! Fuckboy had just picked her up and was fucking her in the fucking toilets like the not-so-gentleman-material-at-all he was!_

At least it was for the best that Yata tried to blind himself with the food, because if it was in his mouth, he would have choked on it.

“Oi virgin, breathe or something! You’re glowing red!” Fushimi mocked. No actually, he didn’t even sound like he was making fun of him. Was it concern in his voice? Shit, Yata must have looked really lame if Fushimi was this surprised…

Thank god, the sex scene was already over and so was the embarrassing torture, but they were only ten minutes into the movie. It was going to be painful.

The redhead’s face burned ferociously already, and he lowered his hand with the remnant of popcorn in it, which had turned into popcorn dust, actually. “This is even more—“

“Sh’t’up!” he snapped, all self-conscious and mortified, not to mention amazed how Fushimi could even comment on this.

“If you—”

“If _you_ say anything, I’ll kick your ass,” Yata cut him off again in a desperate hiss.

Someone in the dark room clicked his tongue and asked for them to shut up. _Fuck! I can’t do this!_

But when his eyes nervously shifted toward the alley, a bunch of seats away so as to look for an escape route, Fushimi seemed to catch it too because he actually got up and reversed their places in no time at all. Now Misaki had the wall on his left and Saruhiko on his right, and no safe path to get out.

“Sorry, I have bad sight, I couldn’t see well from there,” Fushimi whispered, leaning into Yata’s space way too much.

“Fuck you!” Yata hissed back, hunching on himself and sinking in his seat.

“Stop right there lover boy! You haven’t even held my hand yet,” the dark-haired man breathed-out, eyes locked on the screen with a giant smirk. “First you do that, and maybe I’ll let you try more.”

_Fuck me!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse-me for: the bad pun, the never-ending making Misaki's life miserable kink, and basically all this chapter.  
> Warning: Next chapter will have a really more serious note (though of course it doesn't turn into a storm of angst because this isn't the point of this fic)  
> Thank you xladysaya, who beta-reads this and makes perfect comment! And SilverThunder to help me too and cope with me and my never-ending questions and insecurities and... awkward brain lol


	6. Of ants, ice-creams and algebra (in that weird order and so what)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay. So what the hell was that? You can’t be serious!” At least, in his inclemency, Saruhiko had waited for them to reach the car before he spoke, alone in the parking lot. He couldn’t help the questioning and mocking smirk. It was beyond his control.
> 
> “I don’t want to talk about it!” Misaki barked back aggressively. He couldn’t look back, obviously, and was waiting for Saruhiko to open the car.
> 
> Not so fast. “Come on, tell me! You’re what…twenty one at least, right? I know it was a very cheap and bad movie but no one…”
> 
> “FUCKING DROP IT ALREADY!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. The _serious_ chapter, lol.  
>  Hope you will appreciate it!

This had been even funnier than Saruhiko expected, in the end. Misaki had been on the verge of dying the whole time. Figuratively speaking, maybe, but really, it was priceless. The scenario of the film involved a stupid fuckboy who tried to hook up with all the ladies _except_ the one who truly loved him. The one who truly loved him happened to have magical powers (and a really predictable script writer), and had changed him in the end, making him realize he had known the love of his life all along and…

“Thank god it’s over, I was close to puking in the popcorn bucket,” Saruhiko yawned as he got rid of the bucket in the nearest trashcan.

The redhead was mute, walking next to him as if in a daze. The poor guy was going to fry his brain. But again, it wasn’t surprising! Not talking about the countless half explicit sex scenes meant as a running gag, there had been a long, tender and loving scene between the two protagonists and that had got Misaki worked up.

Saruhiko kept a very lively picture of the shorter boy, actually gripping the arms of the seat, his legs brought back against him as if he tried to shield himself from the vision, and eyes wide as saucers. It must have been painful. Saruhiko cackled so loudly, and when Misaki had been whining because of the _sounds_ and _moans_ along with the images, the stripper had indulged him and brought a hand to the beautiful amber eyes to cover them.

Misaki hadn’t even tried to push him away. He was drowning in his own embarrassment, unmoving and probably too mortified to do anything. Saruhiko even liked to think he had been grateful. But seriously…

“Okay. So what the hell was that? You can’t be serious!” At least, in his inclemency, Saruhiko had waited for them to reach the car before he spoke, alone in the parking lot. He couldn’t help the questioning and mocking smirk. It was beyond his control.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Misaki barked back aggressively. He couldn’t look back, obviously, and was waiting for Saruhiko to open the car.

_Not so fast_. “Come on, tell me! You’re what…twenty one at least, right? I know it was a very cheap and bad movie but no one…”

“FUCKING DROP IT ALREADY!”

The dark-haired man stepped back, agape. That hadn’t been a nice flustered defense at all. “Eh calm down,” he sent back, frowning. “I was only jo—“

“You’re not joking! You’re trying to make me look like a complete idiot! Fine! Fucking quit it or I’m going—no! you know what?” The redhead yanked his backpack and threw it over his shoulder angrily. “I’m going home. This was a fucking stupid idea from the start!”

With that, he turned away like a tornado and sped toward the bus stop at the end of the parking lot. Saruhiko found himself at a loss of words, and particularly unpleased. This was taking a new and confusing turn. It took him several seconds before he actually called after the redhead… for a reason that escaped even himself.

“Misaki wa—“

“And stop calling me that! WE’RE NOT FRIENDS!” The redhead stopped only when he reached the bus stop and looked back with a murderous glare – but at least he had stopped.

Here it was again, that despiteful feeling creeping along his neck. Saruhiko stopped too. He had ran all the way to that idiot, without even knowing why and surprising himself enough, now he ought to say something, and it better be smart.

“Alright I wouldn’t befriend a child throwing tantrums anyway!”

_Yeah, fucking smart, congrats._ And so what, it’s not like he tried to make friends anyway. Now he could go back to his car and to his life and just fucking drop that thing whatever it was.

“Don’t worry about that! Nobody will want to befriend you! You’re awful!” Misaki replied immediately.

It didn’t came out loud or vicious or mean. Just ruefully and obviously grudgingly. A slap would’ve been less efficient than this tone; actually. And it must have been painted on his face because Misaki paled and rolled his eyes, clearly embarrassed.

“What? You acted like a jerk since we met and now you’re making a face? You’re kidding, right? It’s like all you did until now was a pretext to make fun of me and I’m glad it passed you the time but the joke is fucking over. Leave me alone now,” the redhead added in a mumble.

That burnt like hell. That or it was maybe the August sun, something, something burnt Saruhiko without mercy.

“Funny thing is that if you weren’t a dick, I could have—ah, never mind. It’s your loss in the end, but I guess you don’t like people in general,” the blabbermouth went on. It was way too much though, and the usually reserved, composed, cold young man snapped.

“Tsk! Shut up now! Who do you think you are…” Saruhiko mumbled, the anger coiling up in his stomach. He felt weird, awful even. It wasn’t like him to lose his temper. It happened, but it was very rare and not many people could actually make him do so.

“What is it? You don’t like being told you’re a prick? Then don’t be one!” Misaki argued, frowning.

“No! Don’t talk like you know me, you little…”

“I don’t know you! I just see you acting like that! It’s the only thing you ever showed to me since… anyway! You also seem like a smart guy but that’s not something you tried to show me much! I thought you were cool maybe, but you were too busy embarrassing me to let me know that too!”

Now the redhead seemed like he was really offended and Saruhiko wanted to protest, because he was the one being yelled at here. And still, all those words, sharp and rough and loud, they all struck him in weird places. They all went straight at their aim, pulling on the right nerves. It stung like hell. And what could he do? Ask for him to shut his mouth once again? He didn’t even understand what was wrong with him. The thought that Misaki might’ve actually had a point was something he didn’t feel like entertaining for too long.

And more than that actually, the thought that he had possibly won their match was something he didn’t care to consider.

 

x.

 

The atmosphere felt thick and electric. Yata had no idea why he had spilled all that out. He didn’t even care about the guy. Yeah, maybe he was handsome, and what he said had been true… plus he had a cool aura and moves and seemed really smart. But damn, he had been despicable with him all along.

Though, now the redhead felt bad for throwing stuff at Saruhiko’s face like that…deserved or not. However, it was part of Yata’s personality, to be too raw and too honest. Once again, he hadn’t been able to keep a hold on his own mouth and had vomited the words.

“Look…” he tried after some time, rubbing at the back of his neck with embarrassment.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t mean to…”

“I said don’t,” the stripper said once more, averting his gaze and tucking his hands into his pockets harshly. “What do you expect? Some apologizes?”

“Well…” That could’ve been a start…

“Or maybe you want your card back! Oh! Right! That’s what you want, of course,” the dark-haired guy went on.

Yata’s eyes widened. “Oi! Stop! That’s not!”

“Not what? That’s what you wanted—”

“THERE IT IS! You’re doing it again!” Yata cut him off, short and sharp. _Seriously this guy!_ It was maddening. “You’re being an asshole again! You’re not working in the right direction!”

This time he didn’t get any smart-ass comeback in return, only a distrustful and challenging glare. _Wow, this guy really_! It was like approaching a wild animal. Not a grizzly or a lion, more like a little animal with claws and venom and spikes (and Yata knew such an animal didn’t exist – unless cats were poisonous – but it was the same) that could actually become an awesome… okay, this comparison was going too far, but it made sense in his messy head. It did.

“You brought me here for a reason, and I don’t mean the date!” Yata cleared that point hastily, because it certainly wasn’t the case. “I don’t know what you want, but don’t tell me it’s just to win the prize of biggest asshole…”

“Can you stop saying _asshole_? Open a dictionary or something, there’s a thing called a synonym…”

Yata gaped at the stripper. He couldn’t be for real. And actually, for once, Saruhiko looked like he regretted opening his mouth.

“I get that you’re trying to protect your ass or something, ok! But still, it’s not a reason to be so rude,” Yata said. “And I’m generally ok with making fun of myself, but what you did was a bit too much back there, ok?”

He really was a desperate case, trying to sooth the guy he had just yelled at. “Ugh man…” Yata sighed, his fingers playing nervously with the strap of his backpack.

“Why would you say all those things?” Saruhiko suddenly asked after an awkward silence during which Yata examined his shoes thoroughly.

He felt his face flaring up.

“I didn’t mean to be mean, sorry, it’s just—”

“No. I mean…those things you said, why did you bother? You’re right, I was acting like… that,” the stripper clearly felt ill-at-ease and more grumpy than ever, but at least his words weren’t as vicious as before.

The redhead shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t know. I told you…you’ve got that thing. You know, like there’s that thing around you, it’s kinda cool. But it’s like, you work hard to look like…well. No. You don’t try to be so rude, after all, you didn’t realize it until I told you for real, right?” Right, no. It was messy and Yata was pretty sure he’d made a fool of himself there but it was like he couldn’t stop. He wanted to talk with Saruhiko.

“You’re not making much sense,” Saruhiko responded. “But you’re not… entirely wrong,” he admitted after a pause.

_Wow, that must have taken a lot_.

“Mmh, so…” _That’s it?_ The redhead didn’t dare to add.

“Yeah.” Saruhiko dug his heel in the gravel a bit harshly in some childish gesture which made Yata smile lightly. Okay, this seemed less dangerous and… he felt helpless but he really wanted to talk with the guy more. Figure things out, somehow.

“I shouldn’t have run away like that. Maybe we could, go grab an ice-cream or something?”

The taller one’s head snapped up and Yata immediately wanted to abort. Fuck, he had been wrong again.

“I’m up for mild-vanilla. The cheap kind,” the stripper shrugged in return, and Yata found it surprisingly easier to breathe.

“You’re a fucking piece of work, you know,” he stated while brushing past him to return to the car.

 

x.

 

It was a bit awkward, to say the very least. Eventually, taking the car again would have been unnecessary and they had walked back into the entertainment center, searching for some ice-cream. They had been walking side by side in that odd silence, not looking at each other even once, until they had crossed the place to find the little park and ice-cream truck.

There was a playground near them and some kids were playing in a sandbox noisily, but except for them and a few little animals, they were alone. The picnic tables were all empty and they silently agreed to pick the one further from the playground.

There they sat with their ice-cream cones, a mild-vanilla flavored one for Saruhiko, a chocolate and strawberry flavored one for Misaki. Thankfully, the parasol stopped most of the sunrays, but it was still pretty hot, and Saruhiko got rid of his vest as soon as they sat down. He caught Misaki staring at him, and he was perplexed before realizing the redhead was actually staring at the black suspenders he wore on the white t-shirt. For some reason, Saruhiko looked away himself.

And then there was a long silence. It was even more awkward now that they had nothing else to do other than eat their ice-creams. Were they supposed to have a conversation now? Because Saruhiko sure as hell wasn’t starting one.

“This is fucking awkward dude,” the shorter one eventually commented after some long minutes.

“I was afraid you’d never point out the obvious,” Saruhiko answered in a mumble.

“Well that’s true. I don’t know, say something…”

They both looked at each other and could read the obvious discomfort of the other.

“Ants evolved from wasp-like ancestors in the mid-Cretaceous period between 110 and 130 million years ago and diversified after the rise of flowering plants,” the dark-haired man suddenly blurted out with the most neutral tone and expression.

Misaki’s eyes widened comically. “The fuck was that?”

“You said to say something…” Saruhiko mumbled again, hiding behind his ice-cream.

“Yeah I know what I said, but why would you say that? Are you an ant specialist or something? Even so then—UGH AOUCH! FUCK!”

The redhead was cut off abruptly. The stripper jumped in his seat, looking at the other, and understanding pretty fast what had happened. Kids had started playing soccer not too far away, and one had kicked the ball, directly hitting the skater in the back.

But that wasn’t the only thing that had occurred. Misaki had been launched against the table quite brutally, and his face had ended up straight in his ice-cream. Now his nose, mouth and chin were dripping with melting chocolate and strawberry ice cream, and his face was crimson. He seemed to have some difficulty trying to breath anew too.

Before Yata knew it, Saruhiko was on his feet and glaring at the kids who had stopped playing, giving them a frightening look. One ran like mad to retrieve the ball, muttering quick sheepish apologies, then they all ran the other way, as far as they could from the two grown-ups.

Before him, the redhead was coughing and trying to catch his breath, wiping at his face, spearing the whole mess even more. “Tsk.” Saruhiko dropped back on his seat and bent above the table, grabbing his unused napkin. “Are you alright?” he asked tentatively, pressing the napkin to Misaki’s cheek.

“Y—yeah, ugh, I think so. What the hell was that?” the redhead still coughed a lot and blushed furiously.

“Kids.”

“Se—ugh seriously!” Misaki craned his head a bit, scrunching his nose. Saruhiko stopped wiping at his cheek right away and felt his heart do a little somersault. Ridiculous. Why did this dork look cute like that?

“Here,” he said, pushing the napkin into Misaki’s hand.

The amber eyes blinked a couple of times and the redhead retrieved it, surprised. “Yeah, thanks.”

“I’m gonna grab some more.” Saruhiko excused himself, getting up to return to the truck.

_What’s wrong now_? Saruhiko’s thoughts plagued him, chasing away the sight of Misaki’s face from his mind. He looked like an idiot, that was all, with all the ice-cream smeared on his face. Nothing else.

The stripper took his sweet time to ask for more napkins after lining up behind a couple and their child, then returned to the picnic table. A group of students were sitting down at the next table when he came back.

Misaki had almost gotten rid of all the ice-cream, but he still looked like a mess. A child.

“There you have it,” Saruhiko pushed the bunch toward the shorter one on the table and sat back too. “You still have some under your nose and on your chin,” he added, looking in between the two mentioned places.

Misaki’s lips were swollen and slightly purple from the ice. The idiot really was gorgeous, and Saruhiko was _really_ staring. “Ugh, thanks,” the skater said miserably, wiping at his face once more.

“How cute is that, guys! Look at that! The slut has a date, can you believe that?” a voice nearby suddenly reached them.

There was a moment when Misaki and Saruhiko stopped moving and looked at each other in confusion, then Saruhiko clicked his tongue, understanding very well who was the target of such a nice statement. He turned his head to look at the bunch of morons sitting next to them, and wasn’t surprised to recognize some members of Jungle, the algebra club of their university. They had shown up a couple of times at Scepter 4, but that wasn’t the only problem. A lot of them studied computer science in the same classes as the stripper, and even went to the same lecture halls…

Usually, it wasn’t terribly bothersome, and they just were like any other stupid students going to a club to get drunk on Friday nights. Now though…

“Hey! Who’re you callin’ a slut?” the redhead exclaimed before he could actually open his mouth.

It caught Saruhiko off guard, and his attention drifted back to Misaki.

Some snarls and chuckles worthy of hyenas came back as a reply from the other table. “Ah come on lover boy! You don’t know it yet?” One of the guys eventually said with a hideous grin. Misaki got up slowly, his hands curling into fists. Saruhiko didn’t even think about stopping him, he was too surprised to do anything. “Your boyfriend is a whore. That’s why you’re dating him, isn’t it?”

“I’d recommend you shut the fuck up and leave now or I’m going to beat your ass,” the redhead said, clearly holding back with difficulty.

He looked so fierce and enraged suddenly. The stripper actually didn’t even listen to the insults coming from the Jungle members. He got that sometimes, he was used to it, and it was so stupid it didn’t hurt, but Misaki seemed to take the offense very seriously. Now he was standing very close to the little group, clearly ready to pounce. Saruhiko felt his stomach twist, but he could do nothing else but stare.

He didn’t need someone to defend him. Besides, the insults were just so unworthy of replies, that’s why he hadn’t said a word, but seeing the redhead stepping into it was quite fascinating.

The boys laughed again somewhere on Saruhiko’s right, but he couldn’t quite make it out. “Aaaah so sweet! What is it? He’ll give you a blowjob if you defend him? Lucky you, I heard he was pretty skilled at—”

The worm never had the chance to finish his sentence. Misaki’s fist collided with his jaw too hard before he could try.

Ok, that was enough. By reflex, Saruhiko jumped to his feet and swooped on Misaki before the other Jungle members had the chance to realize what had happened and counter attack. He caught the fiery redhead by the arms and jerked him backward, grabbing his backpack on the table in one go. “Let go of me,” he heard Misaki protest vehemently.

Misaki was red in the face and a vein pulsed at his temple as he jerked forward wildly, trying to go back to the table. “Didn’t you hear?!”  The skater sounded so outraged too. Saruhiko’s stomach was fluttering.

“I heard, I’m not deaf. So what? They’re morons any—“

“Oi! Where do you think you’re going?!” yelled one of the guys.

“Nice, now they’re angry,” Saruhiko mumbled, dragging away Misaki by force, but the guys were a total pain in the ass and already catching up on them.

“Angry? Saruhiko! They just insulted you like—how can you…let me give them a…”

“No! You’re not getting into a fight, idiot!” the stripper sighed, even though a part of himself kept being fascinated by the skater’s motivation.

Actually, he wouldn’t have minded a fight. He was pretty good at defending himself physically, even though he’d always preferred doing such by shoving his wit into the others’ faces. For a second, he even imagined the skater and him taking on the guys. He was pretty sure those geeks were no match for them. In fact…but no! For some reason, he didn’t want to waste any more time here on such utter idiots when he could spend more time with the redhead instead and… _What was wrong with him? Really_!

The dark-haired young man shook his head, and suddenly, the ice-cream seller was blocking his way. He looked furious and glared past them at the group approaching. “What’s happening here? I called security! You’d all better be out of my sight when they come or you’ll find yourselves in a world of trouble young men!” The middle-aged man barked.

Against Saruhiko, Misaki stopped struggling and gave him a betrayed look. _Tsk, like it’s my fault_. But thankfully, he tagged along with Saruhiko and actually sped up. Finally!

“Don’t think it’s over!” One of the morons yelled behind them. Saruhiko glanced past his shoulder and found out they had stopped their chase.

“I fucking hope it’s not!” Misaki took it upon himself to whisper sweet nothings back at them – actually yelling twice as loud and brandishing his fist.

“Are you serious?” Saruhiko asked, gaping at him as they crossed the center. Misaki didn’t listen, too worked up for that.

“ASSHOLES!”

The stripper burst into laughter despite himself. _Who was this guy!?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So grateful for my beta-reader, as always, xladysaya! *-*


	7. White Knights can be blushing messes too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those scum had just insulted the dark-haired man in a way that made Yata blush just by thinking about it, and yet he acted like nothing had happened at all.
> 
> “You’re redder than when we left the movie,” the calm and cool mocking voice eventually commented.
> 
> This time, it was impossible to ignore Saruhiko. Yata shifted in his seat and gave him a furious look. Not that he was angry at Saruhiko… It wasn’t his fault of course. But the whole situation pissed him off and the fact that the dark-haired man wasn’t reacting like Yata was had the redhead feeling upset.
> 
> “I don’t understand!” Yata eventually blurted, hands clenched on the edge of the car seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry I left for so long? **So, sorry!** Believe me, I came back with so many ideas though *_* I hope you will still enjoy this fic...

Yata was still fuming when he sat back in the car. Saruhiko had opened the door for him, and the redhead had glared at him before launching himself at the passenger seat, dropping his backpack and crossing his arms over his chest. Now he was frowning at the board before him as if it had offended him too. His whole body still buzzed with adrenaline, and the anger wouldn’t recede. Seriously, those guys! Yata wanted to go back and show them what was up!

Eventually, Saruhiko joined him inside the car and took his place next to Yata. He didn’t start the engine though, but Yata refused to look his way. He felt his cheeks heating up as the other obviously turned toward him, observing him closely. And dammit, why was he all composed? Those scum had just insulted the dark-haired man in a way that made Yata blush just by thinking about it, and yet he acted like nothing had happened at all.

“You’re redder than when we left the movie,” the calm and cool mocking voice eventually commented.

This time, it was impossible to ignore Saruhiko. Yata shifted in his seat and gave him a furious look. Not that he was angry at Saruhiko… It wasn’t his fault of course. But the whole situation pissed him off and the fact that the dark-haired man wasn’t reacting like Yata was had the redhead feeling upset.

“I don’t understand!” Yata eventually blurted, hands clenched on the edge of the car seat.

The fact that he wouldn’t leave it seemed to annoy Saruhiko. The light smirk faded and the young man clicked his tongue, leaning back against the door of the car, as if he wanted to make more room between them.

“You don’t understand what?” he asked, clearly displeased.

“Why you’re not pissed!” Yata exclaimed, not believing his ears. “Dammit! You should have let me handle those guys! They were awful to—“

“No I shouldn’t have,” Saruhiko cut him off abruptly.

“What?”

“I don’t see why I should have let you handle them. You’re not a fucking knight in shining armor. And I don’t need it anyway. If I want to handle them, I can do it myself, thank you very much,” the dark-haired man answered with a dark look.

Yata blushed at the implication, and he leaned backward too, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “That—that’s not it,” he mumbled, hating how his cheeks and neck burnt. “I wasn’t insinuating that… It’s just that—eh! Don’t you hate how those guys talk to you?!” he added, almost desperate.

Saruhiko didn’t answer right away, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t say I like it, obviously, _tsk_. But going after them is a stupid idea. They do that all the time anyway. That’s the way it is.”

Yata’s eyes widened on the spot, lips trembling. Saruhiko averted his gaze, gloomier than earlier. “Seriously? _They do that all the time?_ And you let them insult you _all the goddamn time_?”

Another click of tongue and Saruhiko flashed him an irritated glare. “So what? They’re right, aren’t they?”

“They—they… _what_?” Yata’s brain seemed to refuse to work correctly all of a sudden. He shook his head, running a nervous hand in his red hair. “That’s not fucking true, right? Let them say that if you want but don’t tell me that bullshit is true! I don’t believe you! What the fuck, Saruhiko!”

For a moment, only the embarrassing silence filled the compartment. The dark-haired man still wouldn’t look back at Yata, and Yata felt at a loss for words. Then, after what felt like an eternity, Saruhiko sighed again, even more heavily. His head lolled backward and he closed his eyes as his head rested against the window. “No, it’s not true,” he admitted reluctantly. “But it’s not like explaining things to them would do any good anyway. They’re lucky if they can count half a brain when they all work together so I won’t bother arguing with them.”

Somehow, that answer took a weight away from the redhead’s stomach. He was still pissed though. “They called you a slut and a whore and… and…” his face heated up again, just when Saruhiko looked at him once more.

“Don’t even try to repeat what they said, Misaki~, you’d combust,” he said.

For a second, the outrage almost made Yata snap back, but then, a tiny smile twisted the other’s lips and his stomach made a weird flip, the anger fading instantly.

“Ah! Smartass,” he just groaned, rolling his eyes.

“May I remind you that you can’t handle that ass?” the dark-haired man teased him, seemingly comfortable again.

Yata’s jaw about dropped on the floor. The next second he bumped the stripper in the shoulder. “Shut up already! Oh my god!” That guy was just insufferable.

Saruhiko snorted and shifted again to sit correctly and start the engine. There still was a little smirk nagging at his lips, and the redhead couldn’t look away. “You should buckle up.”

“Right,” Yata stuttered, slapping himself mentally when he realized he had been staring.

He fastened the seatbelt clumsily, sitting back correctly as they left the parking lot. For another moment, neither of them spoke. Yata did his best to look at the road. He still wasn’t satisfied with how things had gone, but there was nothing he could do. The redhead just hoped he would cross those guys’ way again. They deserve to be taught a lesson, dammit. The redhead’s stomach churned with discomfort when he remembered what they’d said, and he knew he was blushing again.

What they had implied, it was disgusting. Yata couldn’t imagine thinking that way for one second…

Asking Saruhiko for those kinds of things just… _Ugh fuckers, it’s not like that_!

Yata would never imply Saruhiko would actually do anything like that. It was degrading and just thinking about it made him feel awful. He wondered if it really was a routine for Saruhiko, to meet disgusting people like that. The sheer idea was enough to cause another outburst of rage, but he did his best to even his breathing and stop thinking about it.

“Stop thinking about it. It’s over,” Saruhiko’s voice pierced the silence after some time; it seemed like he’d seen through Yata.

“Sorry. I’m just pissed off.”

The dark-haired man shrugged.

“Eh, Saruhiko. I know I’m not a knight or shit but I’m still kicking their asses next time,” the redhead mumbled, slumping in his seat.

At that, the other grinned lightly. “Next time, huh?”

Yata felt his throat going dry for no reason as he looked at the other. _Shit_. “I just meant—I—it’s not like…”

“Oh but you’re right. You have to make up for that afternoon,” the dark-haired man mocked.

“Wh—what?” Yata frowned, gaping.

“It’s ok. I think I can forgive you for ruining the date,” the other went on.

“The fuck!” the redhead gasped, confused as fuck now. “Oi, Saruhiko!”

The other didn’t answer, nor did he look at him for one second.

“Seriously, you’re messed up,” Yata eventually mumbled, and that was the end of the conversation. But for some reason, when he looked away from the lopsided smile, the redhead felt the corner of his own lips twitching.

 

x.

 

They arrived at Misaki’s place faster than Saruhiko had expected. The stripper still couldn’t tell if it was a relief or if it bothered him though.

That afternoon had gone completely wrong. Not that he had expected it to be a real date. He didn’t want that, anyway. _It’s stupid_. But he hadn’t expected the heated argument they’d had, or that smart interruption coming from those scum from Jungle. And now, the atmosphere was terribly awkward.

Saruhiko couldn’t get rid of the pleasant feeling at the pit of his stomach every time he thought about how Misaki had stepped in and tried to defend him. And, paradoxically, it made the stripper want to slap himself. Seriously, he didn’t need anyone to fend for him. Even less a stranger or... whatever Misaki was. They weren't close. And even though Saruhiko acted like he wanted to be around Misaki - which he did, no matter how much he tried to deny it - it was also weird. He didn't know how to handle such information. Obviously he found Misaki cute, attractive even. Very much so. Not like he hadn't repeated that over and over; and slapped himself mentally as many times. And... well, Misaki was interesting too, in his own way? Clearly the guy wasn't qualifying for a masters degree in engineering but he wasn't stupid. He actually had seen through him more often than Saruhiko cared to admit, even with Saruhiko’s best attempts at hiding things.

If he had known it would be so bothersome, he wouldn't have talked to him in the first place. It was a lot of trouble, just to entertain himself and... well, now that wasn't really the case anymore.

"Thanks for the ride," Misaki mumbled when Saruhiko pulled over near the residential area. They could see the stairs leading to the floor where the redhead's studio apartment was located.

"Mmh."

There was nothing else to add. Or maybe there was but it wasn't like Saruhiko to rekindle the bantering. Part of him couldn't help but think it wouldn't have been too bad if Misaki did it, though... And even with how shitty Saruhiko had behaved all day, karma decided to not be too bad.

"So, um... We're going to the same uni, right?"

Ok, maybe Saruhiko wanted to take back the part where he admitted Misaki wasn't too stupid, or... _ugh, who am I kidding?_

"No. I happen to hang out there and even fake working at the library. The owl hasn’t found out yet."

Misaki's eyes widened comically, then an angry pout painted his features. "Jesus, Saruhiko!"

Well, maybe Saruhiko worked at the library, but it didn't mean he knew where to locate the ‘Manners and Behaving Around People’ manuals section. So, yeah... it wasn't in his DNA, nor had he bothered to learn those kind of things.

"I'm trying to have a fucking conversation here."

The redhead rubbed a hand over his face and shifted in his seat to face Saruhiko. He looked so determined. Now Saruhiko would feel like an idiot if he didn't reply. "Ask a question, I will answer," he said grudgingly.

The other let out a small huff which sounded like a chuckle. "Alright, alright. So, what do you study? I've never seen you before."

"Computer sciences, amongst other things," Saruhiko said warily. For some reason, he was a bit defensive. It felt awkward to suddenly have someone's genuine attention on him. Even more so coming from this guy...

It was clearly a strange turn of events.

"Cool! You want to be like... an engineer? That's so impressive!" Misaki immediately answered with a bright smile; excitation showing in his voice. That was strange too. It wasn’t like he had said the coolest thing. Saruhiko thought about it for a second and shrugged.

"I don't know. Maybe? Never thought about it. It's just..."

Actually, thinking about it made him realize he had never totally thought it through, and the next words to leave his mouth weren't exactly planned. "It's the thing I disliked the least. I love coding," he mumbled.

Misaki's bright smile turned a bit rueful. "You've got a weird way of looking at things."

The dark-haired man didn't answer that. It was true. Or, at least, he knew he was different from most people.

"So you like coding huh? Can you code apps or games?" the redhead started again with enthusiasm.

That had the stripper smiling a bit. "Yeah. I do that. I code programs too. I made the software the library uses to keep track of all the books and their location and borrowings."

"Really? Fuck that's amazing!"

"Not really," the young man muttered. He couldn't help but notice the little spark of pride and satisfaction in his chest, though.

"It is! I remember in high school, they tried to make us code some lines to make a tic tac toe game. I totally fucked it up, it never worked!"

"Then you really suck, there's nothing simpler," Saruhiko said, but surprisingly, it was more good-natured than really mocking for once. The atmosphere felt pleasant, nice, not tight like before.

"Oh I know I do! That's why I don't study computers, I just play with them."

Made sense. Although, now, Saruhiko couldn't help but wonder what Misaki was doing, and again, the words left his mouth before he could think. "What about Misaki?"

The next second, he was holding his breath. The words hadn't sounded taunting, or challenging, or mischievous. They had been genuine, and quiet and... _shit, why is he looking at me like that?_

The redhead didn't answer right away. His amber eyes were scanning Saruhiko like a stupid x-ray, and suddenly Saruhiko wanted to disappear.

"You're really not going to call me by my surname, right?"

Saruhiko bit the inside of his cheek. That felt too serious, too... intimate, all of a sudden.

"Ok then. I guess it's not bad," Misaki suddenly sighed. "When you don't use it to piss me off."

"I—"

"Don't answer that. I'm gonna change my mind otherwise," he added fast, leaning a bit into Saruhiko's personal space. "I'm sure you'll find plenty of other ways to piss me off anyway. So... about me, uh? Well... I'm studying STPSA."

The fact that he had dived back into the casual conversation so easily startled the dark-haired man slightly. The guy was so strange... it seemed... so easy to be around him, to be so relaxed. Saruhiko was the exact opposite of the skater, on many levels, he could tell. Yet it really didn't feel unpleasant. Though for now, it wasn’t like he could focus on that, or else he'd look like a misfit. More than usual. Fuck that.

"That sounds like an awful sexual disease," he deadpanned. So much for not being a weirdo.

Misaki burst into laughter and saved him from cursing himself internally. It was unexpected though, and he waited for the other to calm down. "Oh my god! What's up with your brain, dude? That's awesome, what's happening up there?!"

"Awesome?" the other asked bewildered.

Misaki calmed down enough to give him a gentle and honest smile. "Yeah. You're weird, awesomely weird. And a genius."

Saruhiko smiled too at that. Maybe he didn't regret having called back the redhead too much anymore...

 

x.

 

"So if it's not a disease, what's STPSA?" Saruhiko asked after a comfortable silence.

Yata liked the new atmosphere a lot. Saruhiko was really particular in his own way but... when the gloomy and rude façade fell off, only the right amount of mischievousness and awkwardness was left behind. He was really smart too, just like Yata had thought, and he really enjoyed talking with him. Though, now, Saruhiko was asking about him, and that felt great, to be honest.

"Sciences and Tech of Physical and Sports Activities," he answered with a proud smile, before deflating a bit. "I'm topping the class in the sports stuff but..."

"Let me guess, you fail the sciences part," Saruhiko said with a sideway grin.

Yata didn’t have the strength to glare at him, nor the will. "That's damn right. I managed to pass last year though."

"Did you sleep your way to the top?"

Damn, that evil smirk was back again and Yata's face was heating up for other reasons than just the embarrassing idea. It surprised him too. "Shut up, idiot! Of course not but... wait. Is it ok to..." he stuttered, like a moron, and worst of all, now he couldn't meet Saruhiko's eyes anymore. "Is it ok to joke about that?"

Surprisingly enough, Saruhiko seemed taken aback by his question, and his eyes widened.

"What do you mean? Yes? Why would it be not ok?" Now he was frowning. The redhead felt mortified when he looked up.

"I don't know... You—you..."

"What?" This time, a disdainful tone escaped the dark-haired man, and he crossed his arms. "Because I'm a stripper I can't joke about giving sexual favors?"

"N—no, that's not—I mean it's—it's because..." _Oh god, shut up you're making it worse._

"Who do you think I am, exactly?" Saruhiko asked then. He didn't sound angry, more like... bitter, and Yata felt so guilty in that moment.

"I'm not thinking anything! Geez, I'm sorry that's not what I meant! I just—I guess I don't want to hurt your feelings? Or... stuff like that?"

The redhead was sure of it now. His face and neck felt so hot he must have been scarlet. That was so embarrassing! And it didn't help that his brain chose that exact moment to remind him of what Saruhiko looked like with clothes less... casual.

For a moment, nothing happened. Saruhiko didn't say a word and Yata didn't dare look at him.

"Really, Misaki..." the other eventually drawled. ”You're an idiot!"

Yata's head snapped up. Was it okay, or was he in trouble?

"Hurting my feelings! I'd like to see you try," the dark-haired man added with a smug pout.

"I wouldn't do that," the other mumbled. “I’m serious,” Yata added with more determination. “Really. I wouldn’t hurt your feelings. For real.”

“Ok. I trust you.” Saruhiko didn’t grin anymore, and Yata suddenly felt like the compartment of the vehicle was too small. He mechanically went to run a hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck too.

“Right.” It was awkward again; but this time there was no way he was pointing it out aloud. “I should probably go.”

Saruhiko frowned before nodding slowly. “Ok,” he said, and then he leant between the two front seats to grab something at the back of the car.

“It was nice, though. Really. Even—even with those morons, it was… I had fun,” the redhead said quickly, ignoring his heart beat, which sped up in his chest.

Saruhiko was still fumbling behind them when Yata’s phone started ringing.

The redhead gasped and immediately fished for the PDA in his pocket to look at the screen. The incoming call was from Kusanagi, his friend and also boss, at HOMRA bar. It possibly meant he needed Yata tonight. The skater couldn’t ignore the call. “Shit,” he muttered. “Ok, I need to take that, sorry!” he said in a hurry, opening the door of the car and grabbing his backpack.

Saruhiko stopped fumbling and turned over at the speed of light to frown at him. “Wait!”

The moment he called after Yata, the phone went silent. The redhead stopped in his tracks, right as he got out of the vehicle, and he bent to look inside at the other.

For a couple of seconds, they looked at each other in silence, Saruhiko completely immobile with his hand inside his backpack… until he dropped it back on the floor at the back of the car. “What?” Yata asked.

The phone started ringing again. The piercing blue eyes shifted from the skater’s face to the loud device in his hand, then Saruhiko articulated again: “Nothing.”

_Really? What the hell was that?_

But the phone wouldn’t stop, meaning Kusanagi really needed him to pick up. “Ok, uh… I really need to go. Sorry! Thank you for today,” he said, warmth creeping along his cheeks.

“Yeah. Wasn’t bad,” Saruhiko muttered, sitting back in his seat and starting the engine again.

Yata gave him half a smirk, shutting the door behind him. He pressed a finger on the screen to pick up the call, then bent over again. Saruhiko was waiting for him to move.

“See you,” Yata said, knowing Saruhiko wouldn’t hear him. Then he stepped back quickly.

“Yata-chan! That’s more of a way to end a conversation than to start it,” Kusanagi’s voice greeted him on the other end of the line.

The car was moving away, and eventually left the parking lot. Yata looked after it for a moment with an unconscious and rueful smile. “Yata-chan? You there?”

“Yeah! Oh, right! Sorry Kusanagi-san! I’m here, man, what’s up?”

He’d had to ask Kusanagi three times before he could understand what his friend was saying, his mind occupied only by a dark-haired young man.


	8. Late night shifts working on building new friendships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From: Me / To: Saruhiko  
> not coming over if ur up there dancing!!! what will i do????
> 
> From: Saruhiko / To: Me  
> Watch?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Contains a **masturbation** scene

 From: Me / To: Saruhiko

**MY CARD ASSHOLE! YOU AINT GETTING AWAY! was it on purpose?**

From: Me / To: Saruhiko

**also... ye that was nice**

From: Me / To: Saruhiko

**we shuold hang out together again**

 

Yata was staring at the device in his hand, and actually glared at it, not because he was actually pissed off about the library card _again_ , but because his phone was eternally quiet.

Not to mention that despite the three texts he’d sent, Saruhiko hadn't answered once.

It was a bit confusing to say the least. Yata didn't know how to recognize signs, and mixed them up often when they were sent too subtly, and he certainly had no idea if today's events qualified as signs. Were they even friends now? Probably not, and for many reasons. Right?

First, they still weren't on the best of terms. They might have shared nice conversations and moments, and Saruhiko did seem like a cool and interesting person once you dug enough... but it didn't change the fact Saruhiko had said some messed up things, to stay polite.

Second, people weren’t supposed to be attracted like _that_ to their friend, right? Or at least, last time he had checked, Yata didn't dream of his other friends’ asses while asleep, and didn't wake up with morning wood because he had a vivid recollection of Saruhiko wiggling his butt under his nose. He could almost see it, Saruhiko turning around a pole in the most outrageous fashion, Saruhiko dropping on the floor scandalously with legs spread open, Saruhiko who smelled surprisingly good even after a night of work in a club and even better when he leant towards Yata, bringing them so close—"Shit!"

Yata let out the rage he was holding in until then and used it to clean the shelves in the bar’s backroom, tucking his phone back into the pocket of his shorts. Then he looked down, and he could see he had popped an awkward fucking boner _again_ and the redhead was mortified. Yata spared a quick glance toward the door leading to the front room. It was shut, of course, and not likely to be opened by anyone, but still.

It was a very busy evening - that's why Kusanagi had called him earlier - and unfortunately, only he and Kamamoto were available to help. So it was Kamamoto's turn to give a hand in the front, and Yata had to clean the back room and reorder the stacks before closing. There wasn’t even an hour left before the place would actually close.

But sure, all of that wouldn't have happened if Saruhiko wasn't... If he wasn't _what_ , actually? Hot? Well fuck that, because it wasn’t like the stripper could stop being hot! Yata had tried to reason with himself and forget about the sexy part because really... that guy was not nice, he was... he was mysterious. _Dammit_! He was all tall and thin, all bony, all...

Fuck, Saruhiko was good looking in jet black booty shorts. Yata couldn't deny that. Saruhiko was exactly like a model. And a real one, meaning he wasn't exactly perfect. The stripper was too tall, and too skinny but... yeah, he had this aura, it just made the tallness impressive and the skinniness...

"What am I thinking," the redhead muttered under his breath, biting his lower lip hard.

That was so stupid! He needed to stop thinking about Saruhiko's body, because the tent in his shorts was now more than obvious.

Better just remember his annoying face, it'd help, right? With those piercing blue eyes and thin lips always... "Fuck that," he groans almost imperceptibly, right hand palming himself over his clothes.

Wrong move.

Yata closed his eyes helplessly, but that blue guarded look was printed behind his eyelids, and it scanned him like a stupid x-ray. He felt totally naked before that gaze.  

Yata’s hand moved again and undid his fly absentmindedly as he stepped back. He collided with the corner of a shelf and winced due to his blind movements. What was he even doing?

_Anyone could come in, anytime!_

He wanted to stop thinking about it, he really did. Yata wanted to stop thinking about that guy and doing stupid things like...

Stupid things like retreating between two shelves and letting himself slide against the wall to support himself as his hand curled around his cock.

He couldn't. The heat kept growing, overflowing his face, his neck, his whole body, setting Yata on fire. But the real bonfire was somewhere lower than his red cheeks. Way lower, just between his legs. He needed to get rid of that problem.

And there weren't exactly hundreds of solutions. "'I must be a fucking idiot," he whispered, and regretted it immediately.

Saruhiko called him an idiot all the time.

If the redhead wasn't too riled up already, he'd have been pissed that he was about to get off with the idea of Saruhiko calling him an idiot. What was wrong with him?

Yata's mind was blank of anything except for Saruhiko's face by now though, and he couldn't provide any logical answers. Instead, his fingers squeezed lightly around his hard length and started pumping it.

It wasn't lazy, it wasn't like when he was in his shower, when he took the time to picture something and slowly work himself up before going faster towards the end. Yata was already fully and painfully hard and he felt he could have exploded from that.

Biting his lip harder, he continued jerking his wrist hard and fast despite the bad angle - he hadn't even lowered his shorts and boxers properly - the redhead was trying to keep any moans or panting noise in. Somehow, he was still aware he couldn’t be found in such a position, but it lingered only at the back of his mind.

Actually, it wasn’t even really there. All there was invading his brain were flashes of memories, ones of Saruhiko in the club dancing before him, dancing on a stage…

Saruhiko casually throwing an arm around his shoulder to piss him off. Saruhiko smirking at him as he licked at his ice-cream. Saruhiko’s wary smile as he hunched in on himself in his car seat.

“Fuck, nnn—“Yata’s mouth opened in a silent cry and his head tilted backward, resting against the wall.

He kept jerking himself off furiously, fingers clenching around his cock clumsily as his other hand managed to push back his shorts just a bit more to allow more movement.

The hole formed by his hand was slicked now, coated in pre-cum, and it made the motions all the more quick and sloppy, but he couldn’t care less. Yata was focused on Saruhiko wiping his chin with a napkin and observing him from under his glasses as he leant over the table. Those blue eyes were merciless, beautiful…

The redhead remembered just in time to close his hand around the head of his cock when orgasm washed over him. A strangled gasp barely passed his lips, and his knees buckled. _Fuck_. Yata’s abdomen shook with a few spasms and he doubled over, fist still tightly closed around the tip of his softening cock, covered with a total mess. _Fuck I’m really so stupid_!

Now that he had taken care of the problem, lucidity was coming back, and his eyes shifted toward the door’s direction as his head poked out from between the shelves.

He was panting and his face grew hotter again as realization downed on him. Yata stood there, in the open, a total mess in his hand… And he had nothing but that disgusting rag to clean the mess! No way! For sure there was something around him, some stocks of napkins or _something,_ but…

It wasn’t like Yata could walk around the backroom dick in hand and ass bare to search them. _Serves me right_ , he thought miserably as he pulled his clothes back on with a disgusted pout. Then he opened his hand and tried not to die of shame.

He needed to go to the bathroom, no matter what.

Thankfully, even if Yata deserved to be caught (with what he had done to Kusanagi’s backroom, the skater was sure his karma was pretty negative), he succeeded in making a straight run to the toilets without having to say anything to anyone, fist clenched tightly. The redhead was so grossed out he could only think of washing his hands, and he ignored the vibration in his pocket where his PDA was.

Some minutes later, he felt a bit refreshed, even if he was increasingly ashamed of what he had done, and he looked at his now clean palm with the sheer will to slap himself with it.

“Yata-chan, need you at the front,” Kusanagi’s voice called from the other side of the door.

“Yeah, coming,” he mumbled back.

But as soon as Yata turned around, his PDA vibrated again. This time, mind clear from the previous urgency, the redhead actually felt a spark of excitement and apprehension in his chest. Could it be Saruhiko?

Yata retrieved the device that had offended him so much earlier and unlocked the screen. Two messages. And yes, they were from Saruhiko.

 

From: Saruhiko / To: Me

**What do you even need the card for? You definitely don't seem like the studying type who would dive into books.**

From: Saruhiko / To: Me

**Come to the club tonight after your shift ends or wait til Monday at uni.**

_That guy is a pain!_ He couldn’t believe he had just… _Don’t think about that! Never again!_ Seriously, though, Saruhiko was obviously trying to piss him off. And he was inviting him to his stupid club again. Except, last time, it hadn’t turned out very well, _and_ Yata felt totally drained already. Deciding it wasn’t worth it to pick a fight and – hell, the redhead wasn’t even sure he could face the stripper now, after that… _Don’t think about that_! He typed a fast answer.

 

From: Me / To: Saruhiko

**my shift ends pretty late tho**

Saruhiko must have had his PDA now, because he replied pretty fast and Yata was able to engage in the conversation, but sure he didn’t really want and couldn’t go tonight. It was the stupidest idea, actually. Every time he typed a word and remembered he was sending it to the guy whose face had painted his fantasies, Yata’s ears caught on fire.

 

From: Saruhiko / To: Me

**Your shift ends past midnight?**

From: Me / To: Saruhiko

**kinda it's about to end at 1 smthg.**

From: Saruhiko / To: Me

**Oh god, then you possibly can't show up after that! The club will be closed at such a late hour!!**

And of course it would turn into this kind of banter, right? Saruhiko was going to make fun of him, because what else was new? Though, at least, since the past afternoon, the redhead knew it wasn’t meant to be mean. Mostly. He still couldn’t help but be annoyed.

From: Me / To: Saruhiko

**jeeeerk what does that mean?**

From: Saruhiko / To: Me

**It means I'm not even out of the dressing room yet because the show isn't even starting this early.**

Just as he had thought. Saruhiko was dancing or whatever he was doing on that stage, _tonight_. Well, no thanks. Yata wasn’t supposed to pop awkward boners because of a friend, even less one he was just starting to get to know and one he had got off to… “Fuck my life!”

“Yata? Are you alright? We really could use a hand,” Kusanagi called again.

He probably sounded more concerned than angry but it didn’t help Yata to feel less embarrassed. He had kept his friends waiting for stupid reasons when they needed him. This time he typed back on his PDA almost angrily as he answered through the door: “Sorry, coming!’

 

From: Me / To: Saruhiko

**not coming over if ur up there dancing!!! what will i do????**

From: Saruhiko / To: Me

**Watch?**

Fuck this guy! Yata took a deep breath. He should stop answering, this was going nowhere. Plus it was weird.

 

From: Me / To: Saruhiko

**gonna pass sorry! see you on monday**

From: Saruhiko / To: Me

**You don't know what you're missing.**

 

 _Yes I know! I’m fucking glad to miss it ok?_ Yata’s answer was sent before he could think it through.

From: Me / To: Saruhiko

**I DO KNOW**

 

That had come out wrong and he sucked in his breath. Someone knocked on the door. Right now, he hated himself _a lot_.

 

From: Me / To: Saruhiko

**fuck u I mean YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN see you on monday prick!**

x.

 

Saruhiko shut his PDA and put it back on his vanity table. He knew better than to insist. He wasn't even sure he wanted Misaki to come to the club again. Saruhiko would be busy for some time, Munakata had told him he had two clients already queued up and the stripper would start soon. And since the first client had paid just enough for a show, but had requested a particular outfit, here he was, looking at the reflection of devious maid. Fuck his life, the lacy apron really was stupid and he hated the stockings matching them. They were really uncomfortable to wear. Otherwise, he didn't look awful, despite the obvious feminine style. It had been tailored to fit his slender body perfectly. Saruhiko still felt ridiculous, though. But at least the puffed out skirt made it look like he actually had an ass, for once, because it wasn't his strong suit compared to Hidaka or Fuse, who were clearly quite muscled there. He was flat. As flat as a pre-teen or an unfortunate and malnourished girl. That flat, yes. He didn't care, and it wasn't like any clients had issued any complaints either, so... 

 _Who cares_?

That ass had made Misaki faint. Saruhiko smirked and looked at his PDA again. No, it was pretty final. It wasn't even a good idea to have Misaki showing up, even later after the show. What was he? A lovesick teenager? Saruhiko had spent half the day - and what a day - with the redhead already, and he didn't need to see him  _again_  so soon. They would meet anyway at uni, probably on Monday, even if it wasn't likely if neither of them initiated it.

Misaki was a mess, the last messages proved it, and it was fun to create such a mess, but not as much as when they were together. Riling him up over the phone and through texts hadn't felt the same... Actually, Saruhiko had insisted without knowing why exactly. Maybe because he didn't want the conversation to be over? That was stupid. 

Were they really becoming friends? Something like that? Saruhiko didn't really have friends. Colleagues and... general humans existing and living and being noisy in the same area that he lived in... sometimes invading his personal space? He had those. He tolerated most of them, and the stripper had to admit a few were kind of enjoyable to share vital space with. But he didn’t have - and never had - a group of people to go to parties with, study after school, do simple things with on a Sunday afternoon…

 _I'm not interested._  

Yet, with Misaki, it was different. Maybe they could try to be friends? Though it was a weird start, right? Shoving one’s ass and crotch in a supposed friend’s face while sensually dancing to some music.

Saruhiko’s blue eyes drifted to the side, falling on Akiyama who was sitting obediently in a chair not too far away. Benzai stood behind him, methodically spreading a generous amount of oil on the shoulders and back of his partner. Akiyama's eyes were closed and he smiled lightly, contrasting the deep frown of concentration which Benzai adorned. These two were friends. Yet…

Saruhiko snorted. That wasn’t the kind of friendship he needed with Misaki. Actually, the redhead wouldn’t even survive the idea of rubbing each other with oil. But that was another issue.

“Fushimi-kun, you’re on, blue room,” Munakata announced as he stepped in the room.

He left the door leading to the main room of the club slightly open, and gave another look outside before closing it. “My, my, our Domyoji-kun is quite the enthusiast tonight. He hasn’t left the bar since the night started and it seems like he brings a lot of attention onto him. I think it’s quite a challenge to face,” he said in that cool and amused voice, drawing Akiyama and Benzai’s attention.

The two got up, torsos and legs gleaming, wearing only tight booty shorts. A white and a black one for each. They smiled confidently and quietly at the owner of the club and left immediately after, leaving Saruhiko alone with their boss.

That wasn’t acceptable, the stripper thought immediately. Munakata was towering over him even more than usual, wearing those high heels, and Saruhiko didn’t fancy another crotch-to-face conversation. Certainly not when his employer only wore tight mini panties decorated with another puzzle pattern.

“What a nice outfit Fushimi-kun.”

“Compliment returned,” the devious maid briskly answered to cut Munakata off.

He was on his feet already, eager to leave. For once, the other man didn’t try to stop him, since Saruhiko really needed to start his show, and in a few seconds, Saruhiko was out of the dressing room.

He winced. The music was already too loud and the rhythm was frenetic. Domyoji seemed overjoyed, though, just like Munakata had said. Perched up on the bar with his mid-thigh boots and shorts he spun around, alternating between arching his back, spreading his legs and bending over, and it totally worked. Those movements of his hips were quite a performance too when the ginger was swinging around. He kept throwing bright smiles and blinking at the female customers, and the few bills that didn’t end up caught in his waistband were successfully spent on drinks. Andy really was the best at encouraging the customers to throw their money into the bar’s provisions.

Saruhiko’s attention was quickly moved to another spot in the room, though. Akiyama and Benzai were now up on the stage and… well, they clearly wanted to live up to the challenge. The dark-haired man shook his head as he strode toward the entrance of the blue room.

Benzai was circling Akiyama, a hand never leaving his partner’s chest, then back, and after he did so, Benzai launched himself at the pole and climbed high enough for Akiyama to join just under. From then, the duo strung together, doing several acrobatic moves which had the crowd going nuts. For Saruhiko, it was a wonder how those two could be that comfortable dancing and performing with each other’s crotches so close to their faces constantly but… _go figure_.

He pushed the door of the room which interested him and found the client already sitting in the throne-like armchair covered in blue velvet. The man was grinning from ear to ear. Saruhiko didn’t roll his eyes, but wasn’t far, and focused on turning the music on.

And what a joke! For some stupid reason, the stripper recognized the song instantly. It was the same one which had been playing the time he had given a show to Misaki.

 _How cute, it’s our song_ , Saruhiko thought ironically. He was a bit annoyed, actually, as he joined the man in the middle of the room in a lascivious way. He had successfully stopped thinking about the redhead for a moment, and now the idiot was back into his head.

Maybe Saruhiko was a bit too aggressive for a seductive maid when he slammed both his hands on the arms of the chair, leaning into the man’s space with a sultry look. But he needed to do something about Misaki. He wanted to see him again, the dark-haired man thought, when he met the green gaze of his client, which had nothing on the hazel and sparkling eyes that struck him so much.

They could hang out, there was nothing wrong with that. And he had the card to give back anyway, Misaki wouldn’t let him be if he didn’t return it.

Saruhiko turned around, bending over, his puffed-out skirt brushing the man’s lap.

At least, it was worth a try…

The year was starting again and it promised to be pretty dull. Maybe hanging out a bit with Misaki wouldn’t be too bad – that is until Saruhiko was bored.

He straightened up and slapped his right hand on the back of his thigh, giving his client a lewd look as his fingers travelled higher to push up the skirt enough to let the rim of his stockings appear. Saruhiko heard a sharp intake of breath and he faced the man completely.

He would have to study the campus plan on Sunday too, to see where Misaki was most likely to have class. It was just… pragmatic. Nothing else. After all, that idiot would never find the computer sciences building by himself. Saruhiko had to provoke him. _Troublesome._

“Give me more,” the man in the armchair said and Saruhiko really, _really_ had a hard time not rolling his eyes to the back of his skull. He hated when the clients got too into it and tried to interact. It started with a little _give me more_ and it often ended with awful and ridiculous dirty talk that made the stripper want to take a shower with acid to clean his skin afterwards.

He was paid, though, so he climbed in the man’s lap – who probably started to regret the fact he hadn’t paid enough to touch – and he straddled his hips, never really sitting on him either. The policy was _no sexual contact_ anyway, so Saruhiko just grabbed the client’s tie and pulled on it to loosen it. It was a play, but he wasn’t into it…

Not that the stripper was ever pumped up at the idea of seducing older men and women for money, but at least he could pretend. Tonight, though, the prospect of seeing Misaki again wouldn’t leave his mind.

“I knew those idiots would miss something,” the client murmured to himself, wide eyes fixed on Saruhiko’s thighs, and the dark-haired man smirked as he rocked his hips in sync with the music without touching the other’s body. He knew someone else who was missing something…

Maybe.

But he wasn’t to see that someone again before Monday, unfortunately.

 

x.

 

Monday happened too fast. Uni happened too fast. As he got out of his first period with Chitose, Yata realized how much he wished he didn’t have to go back to school. Plus, there was something else. Something particularly… disturbing every time he focused on it. Yata would have to see Saruhiko again. Probably. Maybe. Though it was unlikely to happen if the stripper didn’t decide to meet up with him, but Yata never knew…

 _And_ he was still mortified from Saturday night. So yeah, that and going back to school had Yata’s mood going pretty low.

He liked what he studied, a lot, but he missed summer already. “Don’t make that face, dude. It’s not that bad! Plus we have Mikoto-san for our third period after the introduction speech.” Yata’s head snapped up. “Feel better yet?” his smug friend smirked as they stepped outside.

The weather was pretty nice, but it felt like it was truly awesome, now. The redhead admired Mikoto-san so much…

Chitose looked past Yata's shoulder, squinting. Yata spun around to look in the same direction, and well...shit. "Hey, isn't that..."

"Shaddap Chitose," the redhead breathed out fast and panicked. Saruhiko was walking toward them casually, and actually...

"I swear—" he was there already. "Yo Saruhiko," Yata blurted out the moment the dark-haired man stopped in front of them. Yata didn’t think the moment would happen so soon, and just like he had thought over the weekend, the moment he laid his eyes on the stripper, he remembered what he had done in the backroom. He’d probably die of embarrassment before the end of the conversation, if Saruhiko started one.

"Hey," the dark-haired man answered quietly, effectively starting a conversation. _Fuck me._

He was beautiful today. Not that he wasn't every other day. That fucker was gorgeous all the time and... Seriously, the fuck with that. Yata tried to smile at him, but he might as well have been grimacing. Fuck his life, for that bad timing and...

"Hey, aren't you..." Chitose went on again.

"Chitose," Yata hissed dangerously, panicking internally. He didn't know why he was so alarmed, it was stupid, but still, his friend was well known for his tendency to embarrass the hell out of him. It wouldn’t turn out well.    

"...that guy from the library?"

_Whaaat?_

Yata's head snapped up at the speed of light, pinching a nerve in his neck and making him wince as he looked at Chitose with wide eyes. The latter was smiling to Saruhiko nonchalantly, and the redhead looked over. Saruhiko didn't seem to be bothered. He resisted the urge to sigh from relief and jumped in immediately. "Yes! Yes he is!"

Saruhiko gave him a funny look, which Yata would have done too if he was someone else, because he might have been a bit over enthusiastic there.

"I work there, yes," the dark-haired man answered, composed.

"Nice! You must not see Yata much there though, right? That guy is like... allergic to books or something," Chitose joked, nudging the shorter one in the ribs.

Yata rolled his eyes hard. There it was, the need to embarrass him for the sake of it. Saruhiko grinned at that, though, his blue piercing eyes scanning the skater thoroughly. Yata averted his gaze. "I figured that much," he simply drawled, and Yata felt like combusting, memories washing over him and burning him alive.

"Right. He's more the gaming kind. Not likely to find a girlfriend like th—"

"Ok Chitose, fuck you, we get the picture," the redhead cut him off, pissed off enough. Saruhiko's little smirk didn't falter. His friend was grinning too, casually. Perfect! He’d tried to build some courage and act cool too; why wouldn't he, after all? Because he had jerked off to that face _? Well guess again!_ "So, Saruhiko, you wanted something?"

"Not really. You two were in my way," the dark-haired man shrugged. "But since you're here and are the gaming type...want to come with me to the Game Center after classes? I have some free time before my... shift," he said.

Oh.

That was actually so weird. All of a sudden, the confident, carefree, and smug young man couldn't meet the redhead’s gaze and was hunched in on himself. Yata felt his palms start sweating and gripped the strap of his backpack. His heart sped up too. Seriously, what a stupid reaction. They were friends now, right? At least they could hang out a bit? Or something? And it was stupid to be that surprised and... happy at the thought. It was what you were supposed to do, something normal, friendly, not like the kind of things Yata had done on impulse. _Enough with that, already_!

"Yeah... Yeah, totally!" he answered, unable to help the bright smile that appeared on his face. "Cool!"

The faint smile came back on Saruhiko's face too. That was nicer than Yata would have thought it'd be, and it actually helped him drift away from his weird thoughts.

"Yeah, right... Really not getting any girlfriends like th—"

"FUCK YOU!" Yata interrupted Chitose before he could make his life really miserable. His traitorous friend started to laugh as Saruhiko clicked his tongue.

"Alright. I'll wait for you at five, near the east gates," the dark-haired man mumbled before brushing past him to head toward the science building.

"I’ll be there!" Yata called after him helplessly, as the other's back disappeared into the distance. When Saruhiko was far enough not to hear them, the redhead balled his hands into fists and turned toward Chitose, the shittiest friend ever, ready to yell at him and tell him he was nothing but a shithead...

"You need to tap that ass, Yata," Chitose casually dropped, smiling like a creep as he looked at Saruhiko's silhouette.

Yata almost choked on his spit. _What the hell?_

"Come on! He's not just the library boy, right? He's the stripper you fainted on. Consider yourself lucky he's asking you to go on a date now. Must be really into you."

The redhead's brain blanked completely as he gaped at Chitose. _Don’t tell me that_! He had to do a double take before he could answer without stuttering. Too many things in one go. He should have known from the start. Of course his friend wouldn't let him forget the most embarrassing moment of his life, _and_ wouldn't forget about Saruhiko either. But that's not what his brain processed...

"It’s not a date!"

"Yeah, tell yourself that," the other chuckled as Yata blushed noticeably. "Still, I think you should go for it! He's... pretty I guess, when you're into that kind of guy. When you're into guys. Which you totally are," Chitose went on, smiling smugly.

"Not a date!" Yata whined again, desperate to die right there and then rather than listen to another word of it.

Chitose didn't add anything, but the skater still wished he was dead.


	9. Let's play a new game

Saruhiko looked at the big open gates before him silently. And he looked at them the same way he would have if he was holding a terrible grudge against them. Looking through those iron bars with a nasty look. A long, hard and painful look that would have made the gates blush if they were a poor human at Saruhiko’s mercy. They were not though, but if they ended suffering the same treatment, it was because another human wasn’t there in their stead to suffer it.

Misaki wasn’t there. Misaki was _late_.

Or maybe Misaki wasn’t coming and why should he care? It was a quarter past five now and maybe the redhead had realized he didn’t want to hang out with Saruhiko anymore. Had better things to do, probably, or was…

“No but that’s awesome Mikoto-san! And so we’ll start on Thursday, right?”

Saruhiko’s head snapped up when he heard the familiar voice. He wasn’t mistaking, Misaki was there, almost jogging through the big gates, looking up to a big man with red hair and a gloomy expression on his face. The guy was smoking and seemed not to need to ash his cigarette, ever. And he didn’t even look back at Misaki while he was speaking to him heatedly but the latter was looking at him _only_.

Well, until right about this moment at least.

Saruhiko felt the urge to turn away and jump the fuck back into his car for no reason at the exact same moment that Misaki choose to notice him. “Hey Saruhiko! Hey! Sorry I’m late, the class with Mikoto-san ended a bit… well…”

“Late,” Saruhiko deadpanned darkly.

Misaki stopped before him, frowning. Then he turned toward the guy who was already getting to a motorcycle and let out a cheerful “See you on Thursday then, Mikoto-san, drive safe!”

“Ah. See you,” the man replied before throwing away the cigarette carelessly and putting on his helmet. Saruhiko observed him all along, feeling his insides twist uncomfortably. Who the hell was this guy?

“It’s one of my professors, he’s quite cool,” Misaki explained suddenly, catching the dark-haired boy’s attention back.

“Really? What kind of sport teacher smokes? It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard of,” Saruhiko groaned.

“Wow! So I’m to go to the Game Center with the prick version of you?” Misaki bit back, crossing his arms.

Saruhiko’s eyes narrowed as he took the other in completely.

“Maybe we don’t have to go at all, if you’re not interest-“

“Ok! I said sorry and I’ll say it again! Sorry for being late, I was in class!” The redhead exclaimed fiercely. “Sorry again? I mean—I don’t know, if you’re going to be nasty, then, yeah, cancel your plan but _that_ is the dumbest thing _I_ ’ve ever heard of! You dick!”

At that, the storm of feelings building inside Saruhiko calmed down abruptly. Maybe because it was the familiarity he was used to coming from Misaki, maybe it was something else but at least the urge to strangle someone – because he now realized it was the feeling that had lingered for a moment – was receding.

“Do I have to lecture you on how to not be a dick every time we see each other?”

“I don’t know, do I have to lecture you about punctuality?” Saruhiko drawled, still annoyed.

The smaller one rolled his eyes hard.

“Alright, that’s what it is to be a dic—“

“Is _dick_ your new word? I think I preferred asshole.”

For a moment there was a pause and nobody added anything. Misaki just looked at Saruhiko as if he couldn’t believe his eyes or ears and Saruhiko considered sulking for a moment. Then…

“Let’s get into the fucking car,” the skater decided, pointing at the car with his thumb.

Saruhiko bowed his head and hurried to the driver seat, feeling the corner of his mouth twitching. _Oh no, I’m not smiling because of that moron._

“You make it so easy to want to punch you, I’m amazed,” Misaki stated while he opened the door to join him.

“Well, you said it yourself, I’m a genius.”

“Right. If you’re as good at hacking computers and stuff as you are at being insufferable, even the guys from the NASA are going to shit their pants, I tell ya.”

“It’s called the NSA, Misaki~,” Saruhiko hummed while starting the engine. Though, this time he really was smiling genuinely.

“What?”

“The American services spying on the whole world. That’s the NSA. The NASA are the ones sending monkeys into space,” the dark haired man corrected.

“Monkeys? Don’t they send humans now?” Misaki asked, frowning… well, adorably. _You little bas—_

“Same thing,” Saruhiko snapped.

At his right, the other giggled and Saruhiko made a point to fight the warmth invading his chest. What a strange feeling now.

It was strange how they seemed to _have to_ fight and yet, the stripper was glad Misaki had accepted to come with him to the Game Center. But then he didn’t know what it meant. He had spent some time trying to force a date (which was more of an excuse for a date than a real date) onto the redhead because – and he now admitted it totally – it felt nice having Misaki’s attention for him and he made him laugh and he appreciated that fire burning constantly around him when the skater was close by and he found him cute and…

“This is not a date,” Saruhiko blurted out suddenly. And the warmth crept under his cheeks now. Because he was feeling fucking embarrassed and scared actually. What the hell was going on inside his brain a minute ago?

He refused to look aside at the other, too, feeling mortified. It was clear that if he wanted to enjoy some times with Misaki, he’d have to act as normal as he could – and it was something for someone as socially awkward as he was – or else the other would run the fuck away. And that didn’t please him one bit. Not at all.

“R—ri—right of course, we’re friends right?” Misaki answered quite quickly.

Saruhiko stiffly nodded, eyes still on the road.

Yes, probably. That’s probably what they were going to be.

 

x

 

There was an awkward vibe since they had left the car. Or maybe since he had started exchanging more than two sentences with the guy who had performed a lap dance for him – but that was a minor detail.

For Yata, the vibe couldn’t be any less awkward anyway. He still wasn’t over the fact that he had jerked off thinking about Saruhiko’s face. Nor was he over the fact that he clearly was attracted to him physically – or at all, actually. Because there must have been some attraction toward him to run like a mad dog the moment Saruhiko offered to spend time together. And if something frightened him for real, it was that those weird feelings and shit would gross out Saruhiko.

Now the skater kind of wanted to spend time with him, which was astonishing to him since Yata had wanted to run away from him so bad in the first place… but now. Yeah, now he wanted to hang around him and it was going to be a mess if he couldn’t act normal around the stripper.

So… when Saruhiko had pointed out it wasn’t a date, Yata had jumped on that occasion to even things a bit. To make it all… normal. It was the opportunity he wanted so bad. And if he hid behind it, Saruhiko had no reason to find out about his weird habits and storage rooms. _Ugh, that’s messy_.

The thing was, even now, something felt awkward. As if Saruhiko was in a bad mood. It probably was the reason why he had been kind of mean regarding Mikoto-san. That man was great, it was a shame Saruhiko hadn’t talk to him. But that must be it then. Maybe he was in a bad mood. Maybe he had had a rough day?

Yata felt stupid as they walked silently side by side on the parking lot. He should have asked about his day, dammit. That’s what friends do, they care about these kind of stuff.

Sheepishly, he ran a hand through the back of his hair and looked up at the other. “Say, Saruhiko. How was eh, you know, your day?”

“Fine.”

Ok. Was that something? Or was Saruhiko going to piss him off once more? Yata wondered for a few seconds and decided he was not convinced. They were about to enter into the Game Center, but the redhead crossed the other path and suddenly blocked the way.

“Tsk.” The taller one almost ran into him. “What is it?”

“How fine was your fine day, Saruhiko?” Yata asked, chin up, the fire of the determination lighting up the amber eyes.

“What the hell are you babbling about?” the dark haired man replied, eyebrows disappearing behind his bangs.

As if that fucker was having none of it… Well, for one, Yata was having none of his shit either, and second…

“Answer my question. Should be easy for a genius.”

“Is this a trick?” Asked the stripper, and suddenly he looked wary. Yata still didn’t move, though he felt embarrassed now.

“It’s not. I just want to know how your day was,” Yata stuttered. It was harder and harder to look at those icy blue eyes.

The taller one didn’t seem convinced and crossed his arms, hunching on himself. “I don’t believe you.”

This time, Yata was the wary one. How could you not believe something like that and be so… dense about it?

“What do you mean, you don’t believe me? It’s a simple question, not a stupid trick, what’s wrong with it?”

“What’s wrong with _you_?” Saruhiko mumbled. “For real, why do you make such a big deal of it if not to play some twisted game?”

“Oooo-kay. Wow.” Yata blinked a couple of times and stepped back. Then suddenly, he burst: “I think the twisted thing is your mind here, dude. I just wanted to know because you seemed down or moody or something and I don’t know I—I guess I… I guess I care? Does it have to be something that’s wrong with me? I ask you, dickhead!”  

Yata was upset now and realized he needed to calm down, seeing how Saruhiko was gaping and frowning. “See?” he sighed. “That’s the thing you do. You rile me up all the time, just when I try to do normal things. You just have to be all awkward and shit and then—I don’t know it pisses me off. How are you even processing things up there? I always end up feeling like I attacked you when I was trying to be nice. And then I wonder if I was even nice to you? So I’m angry at myself and then I’m angry at you, because you just can’t… this is messed up.”

Yata stopped right there, blushing furiously and fidgeting. “Sorry, but…”

“Is my way of being a problem?” Saruhiko simply asked after some seconds.

Yata looked up once again, and the face he met was unreadable. At that moment he felt afraid he had made a big mistake. “Of course not. It’s not. I’m just… I want to adapt. But—like—shouldn’t you—“

“What.”

“Shouldn’t you be—I mean you don’t have to be suspicious of me. You don’t have to think I’ll try to annoy you on purpose or make fun of you or trick you or…”

“I do make fun of you,” Saruhiko deadpanned awkwardly.

“Yeah,” Yata sighed again. “You do. Thanks I noticed. And I’m pretty sure you don’t just do it to have a good laugh either. More like you use it as a trick most of the time. So that’s it. Not everyone is trying to shield themselves or trick you all the time. I’m not. That’s not me. And if we’re to be friends, it’s even less like me.”

Yata held his breath after that, waiting for a reaction. Every time he spoke his raw emotions to that guy, he felt as sated as scared.

“You didn’t use any rude word for the last two minutes.”

_Eh? What now?_

“What I’m saying is that this must be really important for you. To tell me this,” the stripper went on, looking away, as if he hoped he could find a way out of the place at all. “And also that maybe I can trust you.”

Yata felt the huge smile brightening his face before he identified the bang in his chest as being happiness.

“Also my day is more than fine, now,” Saruhiko mumbled and pushed Yata aside, pushing the doors of the center. “Shall we?”

Yata was literally beaming now. “Fuck yes!”

 

x

 

“What about that VR game?” Saruhiko pointed at a spot a few meters away.

Misaki groaned low and dragged himself toward said game. The stripper smirked. He had been winning for a whole hour now. Every game. Every single one of them. And maybe he hadn’t been fair when he had ignored on purpose a skateboarding game Misaki hadn’t seen yet, but still, Saruhiko won everything else they tried.

“This is lame, I’ve never lost that much in one day,” the redhead moaned dramatically.

“I thought you wanted to hang out with me?” Saruhiko pointed out.

“What does this have to do with anything?” the skater asked grumpily.

“Well, you better get used to it.”

“Tch! As if! It’s just a day off, ok? And I’m pretty sure you cheated anyway!”

Saruhiko took one of the Virtual Reality masks for himself and offered the other to the redhead who glared at it.

“That’s what a sore loser would say.”

Misaki snatched the mask. “Don’t insult me, I’m going to teach you a fucking lesson,” he said, throwing coins into the machine. “What are we supposed to do this time?”

Saruhiko shrugged and put his own mask on, a smirk on his lips. “Please don’t charge me, I don’t have any money to spend in useless lessons,” he said.

Then the game began and he felt the other elbowing him hard in the ribs. But he couldn’t see him. He was now standing in a street and the menu of the game was just in front of him.

Then the story began, explaining the point of the game. They were both to defend buildings from mobs and the enemy would keep coming at them, harder and harder depending on the levels, with various devices. Basically they could come from everywhere in the front or the sides and if something surprised them from behind, it meant they did a bad job and neared the buildings they were to defend too closely for safety.

The first one to push back the mob and score most of the points would win. Easy, Saruhiko was difficult to scare and he was fast and good at coming up with patterns and strategies.

“I’ll beat them to a pulp, then I’ll celebrate on your dead avatar,” Misaki said, somewhere to his left.

They both brandished their joysticks and the game started.

“Not gonna happen. You’ll lose at this one like any other else, Misaki~.”

And suddenly, the first assailants appeared before him, wearing masks. The closer one lunged forward with a firework stick pointed at Saruhiko. He dodged it and braced himself before attacking back.

During the next three minutes, he heard himself and Misaki exclaiming and breathing hard as they moved around like two idiots fighting virtually a whole mob. The game became difficult quite fast too and he didn’t expect that for sure.

“Fuck off bastards!” The rich and melodious voice next to him showed how much Misaki was into it and determined to win this time. A few times they brushed, Saruhiko felt it, as they kicked in the void and tried to fight back.

“Come on! They’re like a thousand!” the redhead exclaimed. “Ah! HOLY SHIT! They can come from behind too!” he even screamed.

“Turn around and face the game, idiot!” the stripper answered, trying to reach for Misaki without seeing him. He was grinning like mad.

It was hard, though, being attacked from all sides in the virtual world and trying to grab someone in the real one whom he couldn’t see. Too hard to cope, actually and he missed a bat swinging toward him and some fireworks and the surprise – too real to his taste – made him fall over in a strangled cry.

It happened fast and it seemed like Misaki wasn’t that far in the end. “Saruhiko? Are you alright? OH! Shit!”

Because he knocked the other guy off in the process and fell on top of him. That he was sure of because the landing was quite soft and the _floor_ under him let out a “Ouch, hell!”

The stripper got rid of the VR mask instantly, feeling too overwhelmed and rolled over on his stomach, onto the real floor this time. Next to him, Misaki was struggling to get rid of his own mask too, laying on his back and mumbling.

Saruhiko suddenly wanted to reach and help. Touch that face, those reddening cheeks and brush away the ginger strands. _Why would I want to do that?_

And as he was spacing out, he didn’t even realized that Misaki had stopped struggling and the mask was off. What brought him back to earth was the redhead gripping the front of his t-shirt, though.

“You did that on purpose! I was winning!” Misaki yelled, bringing them both into a sitting position but still keeping the shirt into a strong grip. And, damn, he was close.

So close Saruhiko couldn’t bring up an answer to that. He was aware the air around his face was hotter than usual and it was because that air was breathed out by Misaki at that exact moment. They were _really_ close.

 _I’ve been close to a lot of persons at work_. But Saruhiko wasn’t fooling anyone, that was absolutely not the same thing. He could remember countless of faceless heads mere centimeters away from his own each time he danced on one’s lap, but that was never the same thing, never would be. Those two amber and fiery eyes, he would never forget them. That sharp face…

“Right, I’m lost!” he suddenly blurted out and right after his stomach made a spectacular flip. “I lost!” he corrected immediately before freeing himself a bit harshly to get back up.

Misaki stayed to the ground a few more seconds, visibly puzzled, then he stood up too, flattening his clothes. “Yeah, uh—sorry, I—I over did it.” He mumbled. “I was still winning though.”

Saruhiko didn’t answer. His heart was racing in his chest, that was the only thing he could focus on.

Then his phone’s alarm went off and that was another excuse to focus on anything but that heartbeat or Misaki. “Tsk, time’s up.”

“What?” the redhead’s head jerked up and the look of disappointment was real on his face. “Oh. You mean work. Right.”

“Yes. Work.” Saruhiko wasn’t more pleased than the other, actually. He thought they had more time, even though the last minutes had had him feeling too weird to his own comfort. “I guess I need to give you a ride home and I’ll go.”

“That’s so unfair, I really could win this one,” Misaki groaned, putting his back pack up on his shoulder. “But I guess it can’t be helped. Let’s go then. You sure you have time to drop me? I can take a bus otherwise.”

“I have the time for Misaki,” Saruhiko mumbled, walking away from the VR station and toward the exit.

Misaki trailed after him and for a moment none of them exchanged a word. Saruhiko wasn’t pleased at all that the afternoon was coming to an end and that he had to leave Misaki and go to the freaking club. On the other hand, he was relieved the _moment_ was over. That had been really stupid, not friendly at all. _Fucked up_.

“Oh my god! Saruhiko there’s a skateboarding game! We’re fucking coming back so I can beat you I swear!” the redhead suddenly yelled behind him.

At that, Saruhiko couldn’t help but smile. Because for as messed up as it was, he knew he definitely wanted to be back with Misaki. Here or anywhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still watching you all from afar, and I love you. The little time I had lately I found some inspiration and used it to return to that fanfic that never left my heart, just like Sarumi will never either, nor you all.  
> I'm following the outline I decided to stick with more than a year ago, I hope it won't be too deceiving. Also I no longer have a proof-reader, I apologize for the grammar mistakes and the like.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you xladysaya for being a patient and adorable beta-reader ♥


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